Hall Pass

Two sex crazed men get a week off from marriage in the Farrelly Brothers's Hall Pass, a mildly entertaining comedy that can't decide if it's a James L. Brooks film or an episode of Family Guy. Some of the scenes are hilarious but their affects don't travel well beyond their borders, which results in a sticky, disjointed, shapeless mess. This mess aptly reflects the psyches of principle characters Rick (Owen Wilson) and Fred (Jason Sudeikis) as their desire continually confuses their conscience. They simply can't decide whether or not they're trying to revitalize their youth, actually want to pick up, or enjoy being married, and having a hall pass (a week off from marriage) tricks them into having to categorize their feelings. The wives responsible for setting this trap (Jenna Fischer as Maggie and Christina Applegate as Grace) find themselves in a similar situation and have to decide if they're going to play it faithful or make some spur of the moment adjustments.

Pot brownies, Nicky Whelan, psychotic baristas, this film could have been so much more. Its principle problem is that it tries to have a point while nonsensically cavaliering. While Kingpin cavaliered nonsensically, the point was secondary to the slop, and the slop was frenetically flavoured and recklessly spiced, never dishing itself out with clumps of thoughtfulness. Some of the thoughtful points, like the lines regarding hiring uttered by Wilson, settle sharply while dispensing suburban grit, and break up the maudlin motivations. But when so many solid scatological jokes are mixed with these attempts to be poignant, I couldn't help but want to throw up, in a bucket somewhere, and then go relax with Ugly Americans. Which is no longer on on Fridays at 9:30 on the Comedy Network. Which sucks.

The Eagle

A new commander has arrived in Roman-occupied Britain to defend his empire's holdings and reaffirm his family's honour. His father disappeared in Northern Britain while commanding the 9th Legion's 5,000 men and he is determined to discover what happened. His father's legion was also guarding Rome's Eagle Standard, the golden symbol of its imperial might. After having been injured in battle and relieved of his command, he sets out on a quest North of Hadrian's Wall to recover the Eagle and learn of his father's last stand. With only a British slave to guide him, his fate rests in enemy hands.

Ironically lacking in symbolism, the talons of Kevin MacDonald's The Eagle are not incredibly sharp. Championing individualism and suggesting that if one is resolute and brave they can forge themselves a cultural identity, the forces against which Marcus Flavius Aquila (Channing Tatum) and Esca (Jamie Bell) contend aren't exactly formidable. They make their way through hostile territory with relative ease and somehow win a poorly choreographed tussle to escape with Eagle intact. The film's examination of loyalty is bizarre as Esca betrays his people and aligns himself with Marcus even though the Romans conquered his land and murdered his family. Esca owes his life to Marcus after having been rescued from a blood-thirsty gladiator, and it's the solemnity of this debt that makes him honour his bond. If he didn't honour his father's code and consequently betrayed Marcus, even though Marcus's people were responsible for killing his father, it would be as if he had betrayed his father. Perhaps this isn't so bizarre, however, for it points out that groups are composed of individuals and individuals shouldn't be held accountable for the crimes of a group, ala the Good Samaritan, although the noble individual in question is setting out to recover a symbol of his group's domination, although the pursuit is more familial than cultural, as is Esca's fidelity to Marcus. Still, while The Eagle makes some thoughtful suggestions, the execution is stark (which isn't to say Anthony Dod Mantle's cinematography isn't bold) and many of the serious scenes are more comic than audacious. I can still cheerfully hear Brian Blessed screaming "Where are my Eagles!" in the 1976 BBC miniseries I, Claudius. Where are your Eagles Gaius Julius Caesar Augustus, where are they?

Toy Story 3

College. Suburbia. Daycare. Coming of age. Andy (John Morris) is all grown up and preparing for college near the beginning of Toy Story 3, and his favourite toys are worried about their resulting fate. Happy to live out their days in the attic, they suffer a crisis of conscience after having been accidentally thrown in the trash. Narrowly escaping their curbside predicament, they then stow themselves away within a box of donations travelling to Sunnyside Daycare. Accepting that Andy has outgrown them and happy to be living within an environment populated by energetic toy-loving kids again, Buzz (Tim Allen) etc. embrace their new surroundings and approach the transition enthusiastically. But Woody (Tom Hanks) knows that they were supposed to be sent to the attic and refuses to play any other role than that of one of Andy's toys. He therefore sets out to return home while his friends discover that Sunnyside is actually a maximum security prison run by a despotic toy named Lots-O'-Huggin' Bear (Ned Beatty). Will Woody be able to convince his friends that they should return home to their rightful owner, and if so, will he be able to help them escape?

Sigh. So the toys leave the private comforts of suburbia to live within the public domain only to discover that it's being run by a tyrant. They try and grow up, move on, adapt, change, only to be ruthlessly beat down and outrageously abused. The tyrant is defeated and replaced by Ken and Barbie (who live in Sunnyside's most suburban residence) who turn Sunnyside into a warm and friendly place. Which I guess just points out that as you move around working you'll probably find autocratic and hospitable environments, many of which are hospitably autocratic and autocratically hospitable, depending on their socio-political dynamics and how well your personality fits within, and while living within the autocratic, you may spend time wishing you were still at home. But the film's predominant focus vilifies the world outside that within which servants cater to the well-to-do, suggesting that it's better to grow up and live in suburbia than try and develop a more gregarious public sphere. Meaning thumbs down to Toy Story 3.

Winter's Bone

Reminding me of Five Easy Pieces in terms of form, Debra Granik's Winter's Bone envelopes a grizzled resurgent incarcerated aesthetic within a young girl's desperate search for her dad. Ree (Jennifer Lawrence) has been raising her younger brother and sister for some time as her drug-dealing and manufacturing father simply has no interest and her mother has lost her mind. It becomes necessary to find her father who is out on bail after the police inform her that his bond includes their house and land. If he doesn't show up for court, her family loses everything. The people who know where he might be live in a cold violent culture saturated with extremely distinct gender roles and physical consequences for stepping out of line. Ree must enter this world and ask tough questions in order to ensure her family's survival.

Strict, stark, and sharp, Winter's Bone directly interrogates what it means to have consequences. Characters within aren't spending an inordinate amount of time considering options, there's simply a predicament and a potential solution tethered to an unforgiving social scale. Family can be relied upon if and only if this scale is balanced. Inquisitiveness will be tolerated to a point.

Demonstrating resourcefulness, ingenuity, and perseverance, Ree does everything within her power to broker a solution while taking care of her struggling family. The film's uniform statically resilient being is delicately nurtured even if its subject matter is harsh. Presence is effectively cultivated and sustained and agency delegated and retained. Number 3 closely behind The King's Speech and Inception in my pick for the upcoming Best Picture Oscar.

With a cameo from Sheryl Lee.

127 Hours

I've never really liked survival movies with small casts set in dire circumstances. Cast Away, Open Water, Frozen, none of these films were for me. Hence, I wasn't exactly looking forward to Danny Boyle's 127 Hours even though I've loved most of his films and one day hope to purchase a related box-set. The question is: why was 127 Hours nominated for best picture at this year's Academy Awards when everyone knows precisely what is going to happen before it starts? I think the answer lies somewhere in the following. Boyle is faced with the challenge of remaining loyal to the facts while composing a thoughtful piece of entertainment. Peaks and valleys must be employed subtly to satisfy unconscious expectations and avoid sensational solicitations. This has been done. We have to have a reason to stay awake even though we know what's going to happen, thus, new material must consistently be introduced that not only holds our attention but also produces a minimal degree of curiosity. This has also been done and the scene where James Franco (Aron Ralston) pretends to be on the radio was enough to guarantee that I would watch the entire film. A symbol is also required and Ralston represents the iconic adventurous individual, working in the city throughout the week and benignly conquering nature on weekends, bold and resourceful, cheerful and helpful, working within the system but playing by his own rules whenever provided with the opportunity. What happens when nature refuses to be conquered and decides to introduce a diabolical obstacle of its own, thereby reminding the iconic individual that bold activity can also be considered rash? As time passes, the survivor's psyche must be realistically shown to be duelling with the elements while holding onto enough sanity to continue persevering, and Boyle's camera work and stoic script provocatively insulate such outcomes (script co-written by Simon Beaufoy). As these elements synthesize, we must develop genuine affection for the character to the point where his ingenuity and corresponding _______ produce an unconditioned joyful response, a cathartic release, unalloyed happiness. 127 Hours coaxed such a response from me and I don't even like these kinds of films so I can understand why it was nominated for best picture. Excellent performance from Franco as well and I thought his performances lacked depth in Sam Raimi's Spider Man films.

Incendies

A notary public is tasked with delivering two cryptic letters from his former administrative assistant's will to her adult twin children, one mentioning the father they thought dead, the other, the brother they never knew they had. The children receive the letters with opposite reactions, Jeanne (Mélissa Désormeaux-Poulin) setting out to the Middle-East in search of her father, Simon (Maxim Gaudette) refusing to take them seriously. With hardly any corresponding information and no working knowledge of Arabic, Jeanne resiliently makes her way from cryptic clue to startling fact while encountering the cold face of historical prejudice. When Simon and the notary public (Rémy Girard as Jean Lebel) finally arrive, everyone comes closer to discovering the truth.

The narrative travels back and forth through time, presenting Jeanne and Simon's mother (Lubna Azabal as Nawal Marwan) as she struggles to survive, and her children as they try to piece her life together. At first I found this device frustrating, wanting to spend more time focusing on Jeanne and Simon and theorize my own version of Nawal's past through their discoveries. But as the stories blend together, the delicate pacing, intergenerational tracings, and temporal effacings stoically reinvest the concept of adventure with a spiritual intellectual assiduity that rarely vouchsafes its resplendent presence (editing by Monique Dartonne).

Not bad.

Delivering serendipitous facts and inevitable allusions which hauntingly dispossess the eternal return of the same, Denis Villeneuve's Incendies interrogates time by historically condensing its contemporary space. The definition of sacred is re-calibrated and dematerialized within, its semantic distinction fluidly overflowing.

And what is all this worth if not for a chance to pursue something distant and arcane?

Heatstroke and heartache and lambastes and pulsates.

Deep down.

Talk to Her (Hable con ella)

Love is a strange emotion, awakening oceanic depths of creativity, thought, and malevolence, to be deconstructed, refurnished, and psycho-analyzed, as maelstroms, typhoons, and sunsets qualify particular epochs and re-materialize evocative conjectures.

Pedro Almodóvar's Talk to Her (Hable con ella) examines love's destructively revitalizing spirit by introducing two men both in love with women in comas. Benigno Martín (Javier Cámara) loves Alicia (Leonor Watling), a dancer whose been in his care for 4 years. He talks to her constantly and treats her as if she's cognizant in the hopes of one day awakening her from her slumber. Marco Zuluaga (Darío Grandinetti) loves Lydia González (Rosario Flores), a volatile matador whose managed to successfully compete in bull fighting's chauvinistic domain. After having been gorged by a bull, little hope is predicted for her survival. Benigno and Marco strike up a related friendship and contrast one another productively. While Benigno possesses the fantastic self-taught grit and determination of a confident yet fragile artistic tragedy, Marco is a journalist and thoroughly educated in the 'realistic traditions of rationality.' Benigno's passionate and devoted approach has a resounding affect on the broken Marco, whose objectivity is eventually remodelled by the clearcut desires of his sensitivities.

One of the most affective investigations of friendship I've seen, Talk to Her presents a subjective ideal tempered by practice whose theoretical forecasts are realistically detonated. In the aftermath a friend awaits, patiently supporting his fallen compatriot, through thick and thin.

The Osterman Weekend

Definitely the worst Sam Peckinpah film I've seen, The Osterman Weekend pretentiously delivers a straightforward thriller in a tawdry fashion. Many of the lines possess merit but it's hard to believe they weren't rewritten to improve upon their catchy yet stark foundation.

Yeah yeah.

So a CIA agent's wife is murdered and afterwards he seeks revenge. He's eventually tasked with convincing television host John Tanner (Rutger Hauer) that three of his closest friends are working for the KGB. The plan: gain Tanner's trust and help him to persuade one of his friends to return to team America and recast himself as a double agent. The setting: a weekend vacation at Tanner's house. The giveaway: the CIA agent (John Hurt as Lawrence Fassett) has actually fabricated the story because he suspects that CIA director Maxwell Danforth (Burt Lancaster) is responsible for murdering his wife. He hopes to expose Danforth's murderous ways on national television in an interview conducted by Tanner. Danforth agrees to the interview after Tanner agrees to betray his friends. Tanner agrees to set Danforth up after Fassett kidnaps his wife and son and murders four of his friends. There's one of the worst car chase scenes I've ever scene. And does shattering glass really need several slow moving close-ups?

The smooth jazz soundtrack doesn't help things. Innovative directors use the ways in which their credits are presented to express meaning. I was fearful that The Osterman Weekend's opening credits were forecasting a predictable bourgeois sickly sentimental swan song, and unfortunately they were. If you're ever wondering where Trey Parker and Matt Stone find a lot of their material, The Osterman Weekend is worth checking out. Otherwise, unless you're a devoted Peckinpah fan or like watching bad movies with exceptional casts, steer clear of The Osterman Weekend ad nauseam.

The Rite

Mikael Håfström's The Rite succinctly examines a doubting would-be Catholic priest's confrontation with theological proof. After having decided not to take his vows, Michael Kovak (Colin O'Donoghue) is 'convinced' to spend two months studying exorcism in Rome. He ardently believes that the possessed are simply suffering from mental illness and doesn't respond to his studies enthusiastically. In order to challenge his beliefs, Father Xavier (Ciarán Hinds) introduces him to an exorcist, Father Lucas Travant (Anthony Hopkins), who allows him to witness his sessions. The sessions are neither mundane nor theatrical and Kovak is initially disquieted by their quotidian mysticism. A beautiful reporter (Alice Braga as Angeline) writing a piece about the legitimacy of demonic possession is hoping to exercise his scoop, thereby serving to further destabilize his conscience. Then, as his father (Rutger Hauer) dies and Travant loses his mind, Kovak must decide where his belief truly lies.

The Rite is a modest sharp-witted calling card for the Catholic faith. The troubles facing Roman Catholicism in Western countries are resignedly referred to and the arguments contradicting its dogma given free room to play. The film is modest insofar as it doesn't bombard you with passionate pleas for legitimacy and showcases several characters, many of them of the faith, possessing the same doubts as the typical disbeliever. The film's modesty generates its sharp-wit because underlying its form is the awareness that intense elevations of Catholic principles don't receive much Western airtime these days, leaving proponents in check, requiring a subtle next move. The Rite is subtle and psychological and presented in the agnostic tradition while still remaining firmly devoted to Catholicism. On a spiritual intellectual contemporary level the film works. Structurally, however, it's somewhat condensed. The film is about Kovak but the most compelling character is Travant. If more screen time had been devoted to Travant's character, examining his history and conscience more zealously, his sudden decent into 'madness' would have seemed less like a gimmick and more like a tragedy.

The King's Speech

Tom Hooper's The King's Speech unites commoner and King with a national goal as the threat of war becomes increasingly more palpable. Providing brief glimpses into the trials affecting representatives of both domains, the film trivializes neither while promoting the ways in which they complement one another. The Duke of York (Colin Firth) stammers and is a source of mild embarrassment for his family when compelled to deliver public addresses. None of the doctors to whom he has been sent has been able to ameliorate his situation which becomes increasingly pressurized as his chances of becoming King improve. Enter Lionel Logue (Geoffrey Rush), a speech therapist whose alternative methods have gained renown and censure within his profession's culture. A confident, bold, and successful practitioner, Logue isn't intimidated when The Duke seeks his help, conducting his experimental business as usual. But a relationship develops wherein the therapist finds himself navigating political currents with which his social histories are unfamiliar. As The Duke learns to speak, Logue learns to hold his tongue, which makes him a trusted advisor as he adjusts and redesigns the manner in which his advice is offered, making it less treasonous. As progress is made, the commoner becomes a friend, and their dynamic deconstructs class barriers as the inevitable clash with Germany approaches.

Of course these class barriers are deconstructed because this situation is exceptional and it's only after every possible traditional outlet is sought out in vain that a plebeian alternative is considered, which seems to be saying that only in exceptional circumstances can royalty mingle with the common person in order to find a working solution, which isn't exactly progressive. Entertaining film nonetheless which suggests that if it wasn't for the relationship established between King and commoner Britain would not have had an august figure to sustain its resolve throughout World War II. Some of the scenes are rushed, there's the occasional inappropriate piece of gaudy cinematic melodrama, and the Duke of York's personal troubles receive much more attention than those of Mr. Logue. But The King's Speech does champion experimental forms of professional conduct and the determined individuals who resolutely pursue them while providing the working person with dignity and humanizing the life of a King.

Nice to see Derek Jacobi looking like pesky old Claudius throughout, Hooper's tribute to the stammering Roman Emperor so brilliantly theorized by the 1976 BBC miniseries.

Meditate and Destroy

Always intriguing when seemingly disparate dimensions synthesize and form a productive counterpoint. But I'm not convinced this is what Noah Levine and Sarah Fisher have achieved in Meditate and Destroy, a documentary film examining the life and teachings of dharma punk Noah Levine. Levine's commitment to buddhism is sound and its principles have provided his life with ways in which to peacefully 'harmonize' with his community. But the role punk rock continues to play in his buddhist meditations isn't investigated as thoroughly within. Facts: Levine adhered to punk gospel in his youth and has placed buddhism within an inclusive frame that can assist individuals engaging in destructive behaviour in finding alternative outlets for their anger. It's not that their anger isn't justified, but more of a situation where Levine provides people suffering from abuse and/or addiction and/or exclusion with an outlet through which they can learn to seek inner peace through self-reflection, and make adjustments that can lead to different non-violent ways of expressing themselves, after having learned to question and understand the reasons governing their destructive conduct. Note that this process is continuous, questions leading to understandings which lead to more questions which lead to different understandings and so on. The film's form shows how individual punks become part of a buddhist community and how that buddhist community is composed of individual punks by consistently presenting groups of people, introducing us to members through close-ups, and then interviewing everyone found within these close-ups, thereby giving them a voice through which they can express how Levine's approach has helped them, moving back and forth between "translator" and "translation" while blurring the lines and showing how each individualized focus is simultaneously both a reflection and foundational component of their universal commitment. But where does the countercultural nature of punk rock fit into this universal commitment, and does it re-manifest itself within? The title of the film is misleading insofar as the Destroy factor is pacified considerably but perhaps that's the point, i.e., learning to destroy destructive behaviours peacefully through an egalitarian disposition that actively accepts and recognizes subjective shortcomings while passively pursuing and elevating an objective inclusive ideal? Taking a word like 'destroy' and re-imagining its meaning in such a way is certainly impressive. And totally punk!

MacGruber

Rejected from the toilet bowl and then re-submerged for an attempted reflush, Jorma Taccone's MacGruber salivates and regurgitates its lewd, moronic humour in an occasionally funny ridiculous big penis joke. Starting slow and then slowly improving, if you happen to find it endearing when a bad joke doesn't work and then the writers try it again anyways, making light of the fact that it didn't work the first time with each subsequent rehashing, MacGruber keeps plugging away with charmingly impotent precision and blunt extreme distaste. A nuclear warhead has been hijacked by a politically connected thug who hopes to use it to blow up Washington, D.C. The only person who can stop him used to be an exceptional counter-terrorism operative who retired after his wife was killed during their wedding. Convinced by Col. James Faith (Powers Boothe) to come back for one more round, MacGruber (Will Forte) returns from Ecuador to put a unit together to recover the warhead. But after accidentally blowing that unit up with homemade C-4, he has to do his best with everything he's got, which, as it turns out, is much more competent than he is.

Borrowing heavily from Live Free or Die Hard, Austin Powers and Team America World Police, MacGruber situates a blast from the past within the present and then forces those familiar with contemporary dynamics to follow his antiquated guidance. Frustrated and confused while not shying away from consistently augmenting their criticisms, MacGruber's new team does their best to deal with his chauvinistic narcissistic improvisations. As the plot unravels, it turns out that just about everyone can be considered one big happy family, cohesively united through scatological sentiments, an important characteristic of this type of comedy's aesthetic. The film does improve as it progresses, mostly due to its intelligent stupidity and the ways in which it champions new members of the workforce, but if you don't like narratives where each consecutive piece of smutty dialogue becomes more and more lascivious as time goes by, there's more than a slight chance you will not like MacGruber.

Note that I watched the unrated version.

The Fighter

Modestly presenting the difficulties affecting up and coming boxer Micky Ward (Mark Wahlberg), David O. Russell's The Fighter demonstrates how the middling element can be used to unite a community. Wedged between a pattern that has lead to stagnation and an opportunity that could turn things around, Micky has to choose between his family and his career as his older half-brother Dicky Eklund (Christian Bale) heads to prison. This isn't easy to do. Before crack cocaine took over his life, Dicky was a professional boxer and his insights and instincts have been crucial to Micky's development. As a manager, however, Dicky has struggled, but due to the strength of their fraternal bound, Micky has trouble tearing himself away. When it comes to his shot at the WBU's Intercontinental Light Welterweight Title, he's training with a new team, Dicky's released from prison, and a decision must be made. Can Micky use his influence to productively synthesize the fiercely opposed historical animosities firmly established between his family and trainers, or will they continue to fight, thereby infantilizing his shot at the title?

The Fighter calmly examines tough subject matter, refusing to sensationalize its controversial content. Topics investigated include crack cocaine addiction, prostitution, police brutality, stubborn familial and communal prejudices, unsympathetic ex-wives, children of crack addicted parents, introducing outsiders to an exclusive social fabric, disdainful expectations, immigration, and the unforgiving underbelly of professional sports. A lot's riding on Micky's progress and the pressure he encounters in his daily life needs to be skillfully managed so that he can succeed in his career. Considering The Fighter's manifold layers of tension, I hesitate to say it's a relaxed film, and it's to Russell's credit that he's able to coordinate these layers with such composure. If he wasn't able to inspire such convincing characters from Wahlberg, Bale, Amy Adams (Charlene Fleming), and Melissa Leo (Micky and Dicky's Mom), he never would have been able to pull it off.

The Green Hornet

Can a spoiled good-natured exceedingly wealthy party animal suddenly turn his life around and combat the forces of evil with unerring alacrity and formidable strength? Definitely not without the help of his ingenious barista, and within Michel Gondry's The Green Hornet this is sort of what happens, although the exploits of Britt Reid (Seth Rogan) and Kato (Jay Chou) do not proceed as smoothly as aforementioned. It's a film more about cool gadgets, sophomoric dialogue, and stunning automobiles than battling bad guys and dispensing justice, a different sort of super hero film, if you can call it that, where the villain (Chudnofsky [Christoph Waltz]) has the best lines and the most integrity (ala Frank Booth [note the gas mask]), and the hero is a jealous, ineffectual schmuck (your reaction to Chudnofsky's identity crisis could make or break the film for you [I only saw one Green Hornet ad showcasing Chudnofsky and I'm not surprised; the jokes only work well in context]). A lot of superheroes lack the confidence to engage in superheroic acts until that special moment when they realize they've possessed what it takes to superhero all along. In The Green Hornet, Reid has the confidence to engage in superheroic acts and it's not until that special moment where he realizes he's a douche bag, one who seriously needs his support network, that he discovers the necessary skills. The film's well written insofar as it develops intriguing ingenuous and devious characters full of frustration and weakness who are relatable and comedically tragic and places them within off-beat game-changing big-picture situations (Reid equals fantasy, Kato, reality). The structure's somewhat suspect however inasmuch as more screen time is spent exploring the friendships/relationships between Reid, Kato, and Lenore Case (Cameron Diaz) than developing legitimate underground crime fighters (this would have worked more successfully in a graphic novel). Nonetheless, they do fight crime, and near the end we watch as a socially-conscious American floats through the sky seated beside a brilliant Chinese self-made-person, their livelihood sustained by an incisive woman, existential yet practical as they have made a difference.

Mehopes this image bears fruit in the 21st Century.

Sympathy for Lady Vengeance

The snow gently descends along its ethereal path, randomly commissioned, capturing daydreams and murmurings and innocence, a mistake leads to penalties, incarcerated plumes, resurgent resilient ceremonial hues, a daughter, a family, remembrances, takes, withdrawn yet fulfilled as misgivings wake, tied to a chair for his crimes sits and waits, his victims regroup, testimonials discussed, sudden romance, baking, that could have happened, that did happen, that did, it's a possibility, there's a reward, recognition, an angel, fluttering and flying, mystified, the group gathered together, cohesive, confused, rounded-up-singled-out, battered, used, penalties for mistakes no escape lightly staked priorities, he was on the case, he worked in the prison, piecemeal, sharp, perforated introductions, reintroduced with reflections, suggestions, vivisections, a light tapping, sound, panoramic internal detail, resurfaced recalcitrance, submission to the verdict, determined, resolved tick-tocking, snatched, an eye for an eye, rehabilitated, refreshed, working together, together, with each other, at pictures and fissures and scripture, bemoan and beget, implacable, lace, eyeshadow, fallen by the wayside, with friendship, and family and friendship and family and clustered repentant momentous recoveries darkened and resting and snapping and slowly, taking their time, offering advice, stipulating conditions, acquiescing, atoning, sequestering while unleashing Sympathy for Lady Vengeance.

Lady Terminator

A legendary Javanese goddess known as the South Sea Queen is out for revenge after having been spurned by an innovative lover. Swearing to return in a hundred years to terminate this lover's great-granddaughter, she retreats to the bottom of the sea to plot her vindictive trajectory. 100 years later, a young anthropology student (Barbara Anne Constable) scuba dives through her underwater domain and becomes the body which she carnally inhabits. A violent rampage follows wherein men are seduced and disposed of as she seeks her object of vengeance with coldhearted calculated precision.

Basically a low-budget rip off of The Terminator, Jalil Jackson's Lady Terminator re-imagines Arnold Schwarzenegger's robotic menace and portrays it as an unstoppable she-beast. Up and coming pop star Erica (Claudia Angelique Rademaker) substitutes for Sarah Connor and is protected by law enforcement officer Max McNeil (Christopher J. Hart). The film unabashedly follows The Terminator's narrative with entertaining accuracy even duplicating scenes and reusing the "come with me if you want to live" line. Nothing is taken seriously and it unreels as a fun, ridiculous, salacious peculiarity whose content has been thoroughly homaged in shows like South Park and The Family Guy. Should you be careful when approached by an alluring voluptuous goddess seeking pleasure and pain in no particular order? Yes you should. Should you take the time to meticulously edit your kitschy film to ensure internal consistency before distributing it to your local and foreign markets? No, you should not. Should you try and hide the fact that you're remaking a film four years after its release, following its plot developments religiously, without taking the time to examine any of the pertinent copyright legislation issues? I really don't know, but Lady Terminator is an amusing chaotic highly gratuitous audacious gambit whose legacy has cultivated a devoted underground following. I'm not going to talk about the eel.

Season of the Witch

After willingly and directly embracing the vicious profits of an unrelenting crusade, knights Behman (Nicolas Cage) and Felson (Ron Perlman) desert to find their way home. But representatives of the church are none to happy when they discover them passing through their land, and they quickly have them thrown in the dungeon. Freedom is offered with a price: transport a witch (Claire Foy) who has been blamed for a plague to a remote monastery where she will receive her trial. The knights begrudgingly accept, and, aided by a cast of individuals seeking virtue, or clemency, depart on their most treacherous and psychologically destabilizing journey yet.

Dominic Sena's Season of the Witch is an exercise in bipolarity. Many of Nicolas Cage's lines attempt to sound insightful and wise but come across as questionably delivered hokum. At the same time, he seems to be aware of this as does Sena and at times it seems as if Season of the Witch is subtly lampooning itself. But during other moments its seriousness is genuine which results in a cloying, frustrating affect (occasionally mitigated by Ron Perlman). Everyone within is frustrated however so this affect, albeit irritating, does correspond to the film's internal dynamics. At first, the opening scene seemed rushed and hasty, causing me to fear for the fate of the movie. But as it dragged on, its ridiculousness, qualified by a priest's undying commitment to his calling's principles, had a certain irresistible flair, insofar as it wasn't cut off willy nilly and was given time to grow. The next scene depicts a lacklustre religious figure mundanely yet confidently rallying his troops to combat a group of recalcitrant 'heathens.' The figure lacks the bold, energetic, lively characteristics I've come to identify with those filmically delivering a war cry, and the following scenes do nothing to generate greater sympathy. Hence, one priest is valiant in his fight against evil, another religious figure banal; religion is upheld as just and benevolent and then immediately depicted as rapacious. The dialogue throughout casts doubt on the church's legitimacy as it relates to the hunting of witches, yet witches exist within and logically should therefore be hunted. An over-the-top sensational battle between the forces of good and evil seems ready to be showcased during the conclusion yet instead we receive a brief, run-of-the-mill, laid back encounter which reminded me of Eddie Murphy's The Golden Child. Season of the Witch attempts to play to fans of low budget intelligent horror yet mixes in so many mainstream compromises that its diluted product, once again, occasionally remixed and spiced up by Ron Perlman, who should have been given the leading role, suffocates beneath the weight of its bewitching disorder.

I generally like films which play with conventions and offer a broad taste of ambiguous potential to a wide audience, but Season of the Witch's steady reliance on unimaginative proclamations, unless these proclamations are seen as Behman's unconscious absorption of his crusading leader's disproportionate dialogue, distorts its edge and sickly sentimentalizes its grit. Sena does a lot with his script and there's certainly much to discuss but it lacks the less disheartening developments found in a film like Christopher Smith's Black Death, and falls far short of its intellectually entertaining goals.

Mèche Blanche, les aventures du petit castor (White Tuft, The Little Beaver)

After a furious current deposits him far away from the safety of his mother's lodge, Mèche Blanche, the little beaver, must find his way home. Lost in the wild with little knowledge of the necessary survival skills, Mèche Blanche scavenges and scurries his way through the forest, agilely avoiding a hungry pack of wolves, until he finds refuge with a grumpy old beaver. Meanwhile, back at the dam, Mèche Blanche's mother and sister hold down the fort while conducting a search and outwitting a scurrilous otter. Bears, lynx, raccoons, owls, porcupines, skunks, snakes, frogs and squirrels round out the cast as these beavers go about their business of beavering. Some may find it odd that Mèche Blanche couldn't fight harder against the current which deposits him so far away, or that a bear would cross a narrow beaver dam when it could simply swim past, but it's best not to question the designs of this legend for they bravely define a young hero's strength building quest, as he struggles against the odds and contends with adversity. Friendships are made, tests are passed, hardships endured, and mischievousness managed, as the courageous Mèche Blanche learns what it means to beaver.

Slacker

Fluidly connecting multiple random moments from a day in the life of Austin, Texas, Richard Linklater's Slacker staggeringly introduces manifold characters, themes, and situations, each negotiating its own peculiar qualification, before fading into the background and constructing the affect. Rituals and declarations and circumstance. Considerations and diversification and history. Walking the beat, tweaking the pace, adapting the rhythm, refocusing the plurality. It's about difference, non-financially motivated objectives, rugged potential, and flourishing happenstance. The consent found within this emancipated group has not been manufactured as I've come to understand the white picket fence phenomenon and it's refreshing to watch as its manifestations suggest, plead, and evaluate before fading and reappearing with a refurbished energetically relaxed focus. There's no climax, build-up, or predictable order of things, just a number of individualized reflections presented and compellingly displayed.

Yogi Bear

Jellystone Park is in dire straits. Wicked politician Mayor Brown (Andrew Daly) has decided that its trees must be harvested in order to raise enough capital to keep his bureaucracy functioning. He supports his decision through recourse to a bylaw which states that government supported organizations must earn enough money to cover their operating costs each year, and Jellystone is tens of thousands in the hole with less than three weeks to come up with the cash. Ranger Smith (Tom Cavanagh), documentary filmmaker Rachel (Anna Faris), Yogi (Dan Aykroyd) and Boo Boo (Justin Timberlake) are none to impressed and immediately launch a campaign to sustain their way of life. But subterfuge and treachery are afoot and due to the fact that they don't coordinate their fundraising efforts, Jellystone is threatened with annihilation.

Eric Brevig's Yogi Bear amusingly examines the dynamics of federal and provincial politics. As the right uses local laws to attempt to destroy a public resource, only a national regulation can be applied to thwart it. The left is divided and it isn't until they learn to collaborate that a successful counterattack is launched. The idea that government supported organizations must cover their operating costs is clearly embedded in the script, a fiscal challenge to the sacred cultural essence of parks such as Algonquin. Do logging companies want to cut down the trees and exploit the resources within these Parks? I'm sure some of them do. Do they have deep pockets and lobbyists who are consistently trying to find ways to break down the legal protections preventing them from doing so? Methinks it's most likely. Is it a good idea to promote a fiscally responsible environment wherein such parks cover their operating costs? Sounds like prudent planning to me. But should said parks be commercialized in order to achieve such goals at the expense of the endemic wildlife etc. whose proliferation reflects the purpose of such parks? Definitely not, and for a good example of the negative impact on protected wildlife within commercialized parks see The Grizzly Manifesto by Jeff Gailus. He's smarter than the average bear!

True Grit

Revenge. Determination. The Law. Bold teenager Mattie Ross (Hailee Steinfeld) is determined to hire a lawperson in order to bring the man who murdered her father to justice, and she possesses the stubborn constitution and iron will necessary to do so. Refusing to allow the stereotypes regarding her age and gender thwart her, she convinces the grizzled alcoholic U.S. Marshal Reuben J. "Rooster" Cogburn (Jeff Bridges) to pursue, and accompanies him along the way. The bumbling Texas Ranger La Boeuf (Matt Damon) is also in search of their quarry and the ensuing relations between the three roughhouse traditional conceptions of law and order. Cogburn and La Boeuf are like a rugged cantankerous reflection of Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson and their argumentative dialogue complicates matters before the Coen Brothers round up their complementary strengths and weaknesses (it's as if they've taken a "good" standard lawperson, separated him or her into two, provided both personalities with piss and vinegar, and then used [in this case] feminine strength to bring them together). Mattie saves them from themselves and maintains a firm influential grip, perhaps suggesting that as patriarchal conceptions of the good drink and qualify themselves to death, strong young women will revitalize and recast their semantics, maintaining a prominent place for men while creating one as equally influential for women, thereby manifesting true grit. The fact that her efforts are only substantialized through a stroke of somewhat random good fortune suggests that an egalitarian feminine and masculine distribution of power may be generated both legally and politically and treated as if it was evolutionary publicly, if and only if the actual composition of its resonance is dependent upon frustrated logic reinvigorated serendipitously, i.e., the introduction of and capitalization upon a paradigm which oddly corresponds to and uplifts its socialized framework, something formally similar to Lafontaine and Baldwin's use of restraint in the 1840s. A catalyst, a cyberstone, something from within. Good film.

Black Swan

Discovering that hidden talent, the improvised malevolent sensual complement to your precise demanding technical expertise, with competitors vindictively waiting in the wings, with a smile and a patronizingly friendly remark, ingratiating, lackadaisical, treacherous, while a mental illness, hitherto concealed and dominated, can no longer be subjugated as pressure reallocates psychological resources to spontaneous professional challenges, and exquisitely chaotic repercussions must be embraced. Mother will learn to adjust. Romance is simply an illusion. He could certainly be more of a prick. It's the seductive consequence of perfection. Darren Aronofsky once again coaches his cast into delivering first rate performances as Natalie Portman internally glides her way through Swan Lake. Intertwining an artist's subjective deconstruction with her universal adherence to and revitalization of performance standards, Black Swan suggests the costs of multidimensional characterizations can indeed be extreme, if not everlasting. Smutty and taciturn and evocative and sinister, paranoia is unleashed and interrogated as Nina Sayers learns to dance the Black Swan. While her paranoia is logical, as it increases in proportion to her responsibility it realistically manifests her worst fears and results in her best performance.

The Voyage of the Dawn Treader

Tough to discuss the latest instalment in the Chronicles of Narnia film series without looking at the difference between fantasy and reality as seen through the eyes of pesky newcomer Eustace (Will Poulter), the movie's principal saving grace. Eustace is a mischievous trouble maker whose perspective is governed by fact and he is none to happy with the fact that his cousins Lucy (Georgie Henley) and Edmund (Skander Keynes) are currently living with him. Alas, he is also none to happy when his factual world disappears altogether and he is transported to the realistically-fictional world of Narnia. Expressing his discontent in a number of flamboyant tantrums, Eustace must come to terms with the fantasy in which he has been cast in order to save what remains of his scientific marbles. Thankfully, as he seems reluctant to do so, he is transformed into a giant dragon after inappropriately handling a hidden deposit of gold. As he comes to terms with his scaly scorn, things take a turn for the better, and he is eventually instrumental in defeating the forces of evil.

Seems to me anyways, the dragon being a symbol of the unconscientious nouveau riche, if Eustace were to continue on his present concrete path within the real world, he would have become a miser, breathing impenetrable critical fire wherever he causticly tread. By embracing the fictional realm of Narnia, which realistically molds him in his traditional symbolism, he develops a generous spirit which becomes socially conscientious, like Mr. Scrooge, and begins to help everyone. Thus, we are provided with a basic differentiation between the aristocrat and the oligarch, the one who believes they have an obligation to nurture their community which involves listening to that community's input, and the one who believes they own the community and it should therefore bow down to his or her pressure. By recognizing the realistic beauty inherent in fiction, quests, adventures and what not, Eustace begins to qualify his reality with a wider array of fruitful principles, theoretical hypotheses being an intrepid scientific catalyst, progressive thinkers believing in universal healthcare materializing various tenants of several religious focal points, which, are unfortunately upheld by a King to whom everyone bows, and well, I'd rather not get into it.

It's the holiday season.

Sympathy for Mr. Vengeance

A kidnapping scenario where everything goes wrong. The sympathy generated is profound insofar as its apolitical nature sophisticatedly reexamines traditional dichotomies and leaves one anchored in an ambiguous, amorphous juncture. An organ transplant is required. In order to gain the necessary funds a child is kidnapped. After the ransom is delivered, the child accidentally dies. The police and the past-the-point father investigate while a terrorist organization keeps tabs. High and low, rich and poor, everyone is deconstructed while a sadistic sense of humour consistently produces feelings of guilt. Not for the faint of heart, Chan-wook Park's Sympathy for Mr. Vengeance convolutedly presents a nocturnal psychological thriller which playfully and insouciantly complicates its volatile subject matter. Distinct and provocative, it mischievously detonates a compelling aesthetic which creatively questions its audience's motivations. More subtle than Oldboy and an insight into what it's like to live without universal healthcare, Sympathy for Mr. Vengeance oscillates and undulates while establishing definitive strikes, a mutated dialectical homage to kaleidoscopic terms of endearment.

Nadja

Pleasantly awkward ridiculous dialogue effectively normalized and elegantly delivered, in scene after scene, as if an electromagnetic butterfly is quietly lamenting its misshapen cocoon, delicately fluttering from one petal to the next, breathing in the air, analyzing the moisture, multiple seductive themes variegating its flight, the wind's benevolent seniority quaintly clarifying its path, Michael Almereyda's Nadja revitalizes Bram Stoker's Dracula through sheer complacence and subterranean muses, voluptuously illustrated, magnanimously debated, by a multidisciplinary soundtrack, a haunting, viscidly structured purpose, a metamorphosis incarnated, a resurrection infuriated, mesmerizing, juicy tidbits lusciously lounging within your consciousness, united, shattered, synthesized, compartmentalized, with no particular goal, no definite objective, besides a sister's love for her brother, a husband's undying devotion, a nurse's attentive care, and a hardwired eccentric romantic. Like Nathalie Parentau's paintings, Nadja's subjects are surreal, affectionate, verbose, and dynamic, uttering convulsive resurgent facts, determining sundry, fervid pronouncements, observing dreamlike, rustic reverberations, and organic, felicitous statements. Immediate and everlasting, it gently settles in the underbrush, and shivers.

Unstoppable

Enjoyed Tony Scott's Unstoppable prior to engaging in further reflection. Overtly, it's an entertaining, generally modest, popcorny thrill-ride wherein two blue collar workers heroically save the day. Issues examined: the hardened worker with 28 years experience must deal with the green newcomer who thinks he knows it all; the ways in which nepotism haunts unions; the ways in which executives ignore the advice of their subordinates and make decisions with only the interests of profit in mind; jealousy's rueful mania; the notion that the good of the many outweighs that of the few; labour costs; the dynamic forged by corporate-media relations during a moment of crisis. Not very many Female characters within and I'm assuming Scott found some of his funding from Hooters. Fox news is legitimized which I found disconcerting. Blue collar workers who have a mistrustful eye regarding unionized labour are provided with a more profound degree of sincerity. Many scenes lack emotional depth, as if the actors are trying to finish several sequences quickly and efficiently throughout the course of a day, focusing on production costs rather than art. Sorry to say that the sum of these parts equals a subtle, sinister form of Republicanism, dangerously barreling down North America's cultural track. If we imagine Denzel Washington and Chris Pine's characters as representing United States Senator from Vermont Bernie Sanders, then Unstoppable's Republican agenda can be deconstructed and revitalized however. The film concerns a runaway train that must be stopped before its toxic contents destroy a section of Stanton Pennsylvania.

Pray the Devil Back to Hell

Providing coordinated snapshots of the movement that led to the end of Liberia's second civil war, Gini Reticker's Pray the Devil Back to Hell distills and memorializes an exceptional postmodern promotion of peace. Interviewing many of the principal participants, Reticker offers personal histories and general statistics to frame and conceptualize her portrait. Her depiction of the civil war modestly evidences the daily atrocities, only graphically referring to one barbaric situation, which highlights the brutality without sensationalizing it, thereby providing her with more time to focus on the movement. The Women of Liberia, Christian and Muslims working together, were basically tired of the civil war and decided to launch a peaceful protest demanding that Charles Taylor's corrupt regime meet with Liberia's rebellious warlords to come to a peaceful agreement. Eventually attracting international attention, they tenaciously and ingeniously held their ground until their goals were met.

Seemingly up against insurmountable odds, the Women of Liberia uprightly stand as a shining beacon of dedicated grassroots political action (Charles Taylor is being charged for war crimes in the Hague). Hopefully their example, brilliantly upheld in Pray the Devil Back to Hell, continues to globally inspire the bold and the oppressed.

The Meaning of Life

Hugh Brody's The Meaning of Life introduces us to several inmates of the Kwìkwèxwelhp minimum security correctional facility (The Kwìkwèxwelhp Healing Village), located on Chehalis First Nations territory in British Columbia. Providing several of them with the opportunity to speak, a vicious cycle of abuse and violent crime is showcased. The residents, having been sentenced to life in prison, recognize that the crimes they committed were heinous and deplorable, the kinds of acts that aren't easily forgiven. Wishing they had taken a different path while making the most of the one they're on, many of them occupy their time with various productive tasks, often producing venerable works of art. The healing village's operation is guided by First Nations's spirituality, and its focus provides the inmates with a high degree of dignity. It is certain that they committed brutal crimes for which one must be locked up as a consequence. But what becomes clear is that most of them were the extreme victims of abuse themselves, many of them Natives who suffered under the Residential School System, and wherever they went prior to committing their crimes, there were few people if anyone willing to try and understand their situation, who weren't selling drugs and/or alcohol. What The Meaning of Life poetically captures is the beauty remaining within these victims, as well as the fact that serving time can have enormously beneficial spiritual affects, especially when that time is served within an institution that respects its subjects. There are certainly no easy answers when it comes to political and ethical viewpoints regarding the nature of discipline and punishment, but people and institutions which attempt to understand the historical, social, and psychological reasons why something occurred, rather than simply judging the fact that it did, are moving in the right direction in my books, dynamically examining multidimensional big picture questions through the productive lens of compassion and culture.

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Part I

Know then that Harry Potter is back once more in Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Part I, wherein he battles death eaters and fascists and feelings all the while coming of age. Most of the regular cast is also back for a scene or two and since the book has been cut in two even more depth than that found in The Order of the Phoenix is presented. Which doesn't mean many of the scenes aren't still curt and melodramatic full of noises and exclamations the kitschy insertion of which is supposed to tap into our preprogrammed dispositions and produce one of a variety of emotional responses. Short and to the point most of the time, yet supposedly exceptional due to the hype and reputations of the cast, the scene where Harry dances with Hermione still adds a nice touch. It's not that I didn't like the film, I certainly did. It's just as entertaining as any of the others, in fact, even more so, because it strays from the typical Hogwarts-and-they're-a-year-older-now format. It's just very rushed. A couple more extended scenes like that where Harry dances with Hermione would have been worth their weight in transitionary gold, or galleons, or something (why did they even include the Dursley's?). I'd really like to see an auteur like Werner Herzog or David Lynch take an aspect of one of these novels and transfer it to another setting within which its character is reconstituted yet traditionalized in order to provide it with more artistic depth. Or perhaps one of them could simply direct the Battle of Hogwarts. Could you imagine how amazing it would be if David Lynch directed the Battle of Hogwarts?

It would be amazing.

The Town

Ben Affleck's The Town is your classic intergenerational flick. You can rent it with an eclectic bunch including your parents and although few will likely be seriously impressed, many will accept its better than average character. It's subdued yet poignant, frank yet thoughtful, situated in an inner-city small town. Sort of cool how Affleck (Doug MacRay) falls for the girl he kidnaps after setting her free (Rebecca Hall as Claire Keesey). Liked the ways in which it cryptically and ambiguously emphasizes how people accidentally suffocate one another as circumstances dictate that they 'must' engage in certain actions, whether they're decent cops or Robin Hood, even if such an emphasis is paranoid and cynical (the internal consistency works). Affleck pulls off the classic complacent comeback performance, successfully portraying a character who never has to display much emotion, which makes it easier for him to appear accomplished since he doesn't have to take any risks. Jeremy Renner (James Coughlin) is provided with more of an opportunity to display his talent than he was in The Hurt Locker, and it looks like he may be around for awhile. Entertaining. The film subtly uses clichés successfully to present an appealing middle-of-the-road entertaining distraction, the kind of film you can hope that your friend with bad taste picks when it's his or her turn to choose a movie. A long ways from Good Will Hunting, but worth a forty minute walk on a cold, dark, typical weeknight.

Fool for Love

Robert Altman's Fool for Love is one of those dark sombre romances that's almost more fun to write about than watch. The basic plot is traditional. A gorgeous woman (Kim Basinger as May) is in love and has been in love with a cowboy (Sam Shepard as Eddie) whose no good for her for over a decade. She tries to overcome her desire by dating someone less bold (Randy Quaid as Martin). When the two subjects of desire meet, an otherwise viscid, enigmatic, nocturnal love story suddenly has all of its secrets revealed, candidly, confidently, and non-chalently, a shocking synthesis of opposites cheerfully and disconcertingly materialized. This portion of Fool for Love's script, by clarifying the details the rest of the film has so cleverly hidden, carnal forbidden details forged by desire's twisted and recalcitrant whims, seems to be saying that if a polar synthesis is unleashed in order to explain two sets of taboo miscalculations (one the direct result of the other), while order will be briefly restored, that order's chaos will not be able to withstand externalized vindications. Hence, while the love remains, the situation becomes even more surreal.

Due Date

As you enter your fourth decade, you may find getting along with people difficult, especially if you're not interested in fucking people over, or, are very interested in fucking people over. If you're interested in fucking people over, you'll get along well with your brethren, but any sort of genuine affection is always mitigated and diluted by an underlying creeping sense of dread, which can lead to misery if not alleviated by church on Sunday (or a weekly chat with a psychiatrist). If you're not interested in fucking people over, you'll seem odd, and the ways in which you interact with others will be judged as suspect and counterproductive, as if you don't want a three storey house, although there will be an unspoken respect for your good nature that underlies your social interactions. Todd Phillips's Due Date takes a representative from both of these categories and sticks them on a road trip together from Atlanta to Los Angeles. Peter Highman (Robert Downey Jr.) simply wants to make it back to L.A. for the birth of his first child while Ethan Tremblay (Zach Galifianakis) has a meeting with an agent in Hollywood. The relationship between their personalities is very Plains, Trains and Automobiles, although the consistently awkward and ridiculous scenarios have been crafted for a 21st century audience (like the difference between Back to the Future and Hot Tub Time Machine or Growing Pains and Family Guy). It's sort of like high-strung lackadaisical perseverance meets care-free trusting tactless generosity while co-ordinating various provocatively inane exchanges on an uplifting heroic comedic adventure. Will an enduring friendship be the result and will Ethan and Peter learn to fuck each other over productively by openly caring for one another? My favourite Todd Phillips's film to date.

Novocaine

While growing up in the 80s I was a huge Steve Martin fan, so I decided to give Novocaine a shot recently even though its reviews are predominantly negative. And it's obvious that those reviews are negative because Novocaine is simply to smart for its own good. It's well written insofar as its melodramatic presentations and pronouncements are consistently subverted by ridiculous subject matter that simultaneously lambastes and reconstructs several film noir 'motifs' in order to ironically elevate the whole kitschy kit and kaboodle. It's like director David Atkins is giving Martin the chance to make fun of the ways in which Steve Martin films were typecast during the 90s by allowing him to return to a more atypical role, like those from Dead Men Don't Wear Plaid or The Man with Two Brains. In fact, Atkins plays with mass conventions and characterizations within in order to reinvent and reinvigorate filmic constructions, notably with his police officers and femme fatales, thereby providing an unpredictable treat for the conditioned status quo, by destabilizing the manufactured organic link between characters and occupations. Which opens up the comedic spectrum and explains the vituperation.

Kevin Bacon's first scene is outstanding.

Tsotsi

Gang leader David (Presley Chweneyagae) has a bizarre crisis of conscience after stealing an automobile in the first twenty minutes of Gavin Hood's Tsotsi. Used to spending his time organizing petty robberies with the help of his friends, David suddenly steals a car on his own only to find a baby nestled in the back seat. Horrific and haunting childhood memories demand that he care for the child in order to make amends for his father's abuse. In the meantime, the child's parents use their power and influence to vigilantly search for their offspring.

Tilling complicated ethical ground, Tsotsi illustrates how a troubled individual uses the rewards gained from criminal activities to transform his attitude regarding community living. Hood is clear to point out that the opportunities in David's neighbourhood are slim and a life of crime one of the only options. As David learns more about the art of parenting, his personality changes and he develops a more inclusive set of social principles. And then he is arrested, but on his own terms.

Furry Vengeance

Roger Kumble's Furry Vengeance is actually a lot more than an annoying comedy with poor bear representation and far to many repetitive scenes. It's also an attempt to indoctrinate children with an eco-friendly racist attitude regarding globalization (I suppose this is about as progressive as Republicans get). As the film unreels, real-estate developer Brendan Fraser (Dan Sanders) plans to turn a forest into a subdivision and cash-in both professionally and economically. But the forest's residents are aware of his ambitions and set out to annihilate them. As time passes, Fraser realizes that the animals are simply trying to protect their families in the same way that he is trying to protect his, and he consequently takes their side in the order of things. But his change of mind angers his Asian American boss who was trying to raise the related development capital from a group of East-Indian industrialists and all hell breaks loose at the annual town festival. And the reconstituted American champions the rights of his community and India and China are prevented from ruining the American landscape. Children should be spared the ways in which films like Furry Vengeance attempt to xenophobically and racistly indoctrinate them, and it's a shame trash like this received a widespread mainstream distribution.

Red

I liked Robert Schwentke's Red even though there's not much to it. I recommend it if and only if you're searching for a mildly entertaining brain numbing occasionally amusing action flick wherein several old-school big names (Helen Mirren, Bruce Willis, Morgan Freeman, John Malkovich, Richard Dreyfuss, Ernest Borgnine) give a Space Cowboys salute to their careers. I was glad to see Brian Cox included in the cast. Even though his career hasn't had as many leading roles, he's definitely demonstrated a robust dynamic multidimensional integrity over the years (as if casting personnel Deborah Aquila and Mary Tricia Wood are saying "you, Brian Cox, are the ultimate mainstream supporting actor"). The next generation is represented by Karl Urban who has demonstrated his abilities in films such as The Chronicles of Riddick, Star Trek, and Pathfinder, and he resignedly holds his own throughout. The film vilifies American atrocities committed in Central America during the 1980s and while this is good it's as if its structure is saying that it's to bad it took the American mainstream 25 years to catch up. The internal dynamics point out how hard it is to prevent such things from happening if you're solely concerned with advancing your own personal agenda, unless that agenda is designed to prevent such things from happening.

La dernière fugue (The Last Escape)

A son struggles with his conception of his father as that father tries to maintain his place at the head of his household during Christmas dinner. But Parkinson's Disease and a generally ornery disposition have lead that father's family to openly revolt against his traditional authority. While taking a break, family members André (Yves Jacques) and Sam (Aliocha Schneider) consider the notion that perhaps euthanasia is the best solution, seeing how their patriarch (Jacques Godin) remains mentally lucid but physically and spiritually destitute. Their long suffering matriarch (Andrée Lachapelle) isn't adverse to the idea (especially after the father mentions that he no longer wishes to go on) and Léa Pool's La dernière fugue (The Last Escape) crisply examines the resultant subject matter. But is it the patriarchy itself that has Parkinson's and are we watching a sentimental salute to an eclipsed cultural stranglehold whose vilification of marijuana and strict gender roles doesn't productively jive with the 21st century? Pool's film doesn't directly suggest this and she delicately pays respect to different generational attitudes within, providing multiple viewpoints with terse, spur of the moment exclamations. The speed at which everything takes place is suspect as is the sudden ending, but the overt manner which Pool adopts in order to launch her investigation is pronounced and bold and refreshingly open.

Masculin féminin: 15 faits précis

Answers and questions. Definitions and commitment. Meaning and possibility. Love. Jean-Luc Godard's Masculin féminin situates and interrogates his uncertain conception of Parisian ideology within a diverse realistic quotidian brand of surrealism which effectively simulates a dynamically fluctuating resolution. Practically searching for truths and realizations in accordance with predetermined principles can have a disillusioning affect when trying to place them within one's expectations of an other, based upon interpretations of historical interactions, especially when such principles are being simultaneously synthetically analyzed. But this doesn't prevent Paul (Jean-Pierre Léaud) from continuing to interact with and observe his community as partner Madeleine (Chantal Goya) becomes a pop star. Many scenes are robust, showcasing differing points of view quickly and acutely yet calmly and pensively, while eating breakfast in a café for instance, the actors eating and drinking throughout, like a well-executed preplanned orchestration of randomly improvised daily life, with just enough absurd happenings to make sure it isn't taking itself to seriously. Stop analyzing things and you may have an easier time unless analyzing things makes you happy (assuming happiness is a possibility). Cultural tropes (interviews for pop magazines . . .) are subtly satirized and recast to reelevate their "insert your adjective" recognitions. I have no idea what this film is about. And I used a lot of big words.

The Social Network

I'm on Facebook every single day. Mostly just to play Scrabble but also to see the news items etc. that friends have designated as worthy of sharing. And to see who is adhering to the art of creating compelling Facebook Profile Status Updates. It's not the easiest thing to do although its analysis depends upon which of the myriad factors one's disposition chooses to exalt as wrought iron synthetic principles at that specific time, which depends upon how that day's events have individually affected his or her historical constitution. Even if you have principles that you always apply it depends upon how those principles align themselves with and are interpreted by your personality's unique composition at that given moment. I'm just trying to say that it must be fun being a judge.

David Fincher's The Social Network examines how Facebook came to be, placing its provocative genesis within a generally non-judgmental framework. Harvard student Mark Zuckerberg (Jesse Eisenberg) is distraught regarding a relationship that has gone sour and engages in cybershenanigans in order to reestablish his sense of self. Said shenanigans impress three other students who resultantly share their idea for a social networking site, hoping that he will join their team. However, believing he can improve on their idea and develop it on his own, with a little help from his friends, Zuckerberg breaks and predominantly partners with his best friend Eduardo (Andrew Garfield) instead. But differing philosophies concerning how the company should be managed significantly rupture their bond, and the film unreels by staggering two simultaneous lawsuits with the practical details composing their judicial trajectories.

Zuckerberg comes across as exceptionally shrewd and benefits economically and culturally if not socially from his endeavours. The film's well structured (especially the opening scene), thankfully providing unnecessary depth for some of its characters while realigning our attention every couple of minutes or so. Generalizations regarding personalities are delivered incisively (internally speaking) and the difficulties of fantastically capturing the legal realities disrupting Zuckerberg's life are handled well (the scenes are terse and kitschy yet volatile and characteristic [the form 'distilling' the undergraduate personality]). Sean Parker's (Justin Timberlake) introduction effectively breaks up the narrative, functioning as a transformative bridge much like that in David Bowie's "Changes." And although the breakdown of Zuckerberg and Saverin's friendship is a little tough to take, at least its resolution sees some ethics transferred to the world of business. After lengthy, expensive, legal proceedings.

Well, I'm about to check Facebook for the 16th time today in order to see if that ukelele jam's still on for tomorrow and whether or not I can score a Scrabble bingo. Why did T_______ post that picture? That's not going to go over well. I would start my own zoo but you can't design it from scratch and I want a zoo that only contains different types of bears. This kind of functionality isn't present people . . !

Altered States

Eddie Jessup (William Hurt) is a scientist committed to experiencing/discovering the first thought, the foundational ontological kernel. Conducting experiments with sensory deprivation and hallucinogenic drugs, he comes closer and closer to unlocking existence's primordial governing secret. But as he approaches this void, he sacrifices his wife and family, not permitting domestic comforts to conflict with his pursuit of knowledge. Then, as his genetic structure begins to deteriorate and his blackouts engender carnal repercussions, he must battle reality's constitution and embrace the overwhelming power of love; after briefly transforming into an apelike creature.

As scientific-poetry deconstructs the relationship between professional and personal responsibility, Ken Russell's Altered States melodramatically illustrates a thesis regarding what it means to be human. Its synthesis of art and science can come across as naively sentimental, multifaceted and interrogative, cheesy and distorted, or incredibly uplifting, depending. Can you maintain a substantial "I" without reciprocating a loving partner's devotion? According to Altered States's depiction of the humanistic universe's physiological construction, the answer is "no," you cannot.

Cube

Vincenzo Natali's Cube presents a group of strangers who wake up within a byzantine death trap with no choice but to work together to gain their freedom. Their prison is a giant cube in which some rooms are safe and others contain malicious contraptions designed to quickly end their lives. Enigmatic clues are provided the deciphering of which will enable them to pass through unscathed. As the trapped individuals begin to solve the puzzle, it quickly becomes apparent that a particular form of human nature is their own worst enemy.

The characters are divided into two camps, one nihilistic, the other content with the order of things. Paranoid anxious dialogue delivers extreme points from both ideological stances as their confines suffocate their more polite characteristics. One character decides that they must take control and takes it upon themself to lead. Believing in a strict, necessary, veracious, immutable relationship between things and the ways in which a particular school of thought has defined them, they consider themself to be a representative of austerity and therefore the purist candidate for leadership. Trying to apply the guidelines of a master-narrative to their random circumstances rather than negotiating and aligning themself with the organized structural ambiguity leads to violence and madness, and the laissez-faire nihilists must cope with this determined beast. But passively accepting their situation and progressing patiently and calmly does not guarantee them success, for the designs of the cube cater to both reason and madness alike where only the innocent can survive. According to the ridiculous ending anyways. The logic built into this ending works with Cube's structure however, Natali positioning himself within the very same technosocial-predicament he examines, like Rousseau in a pernicious futuristic state of nature, and delivering the predictable stereotypical solution (the fact that the villain somehow returns) that so often is designated "correct" by its designer's dementia.

Machete

Robert Rodriguez's new action film Machete (co-directed by Ethan Maniquis) accomplishes its goals and effectively pays respect to its filmic heritage. But it's no Planet Terror. The right content is in place. An implacable officer of the law is disgraced and humiliated by a corrupt Mexican drug lord (Steven Seagal as Torrez) and left with nothing besides his integrity and honour (Danny Trejo as Machete). Continuing to make ends meet as a landscape artist, he is eventually hired by a rich thug (Jeff Fahey as Michael Booth) to kill a politician whose policies vilify illegal Mexican immigration to the United States (Robert de Niro as Senator John McLaughlin). But a double-cross is in the mix, and Machete soon finds himself hunted by Booth's men after narrowly escaping their treacherous clutches. Alone and on the run, he finds help from a sultry revolutionary posing as a taco-salesperson (Michelle Rodriguez as Luz) and a U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement Agent who needs to recalibrate her attitude (Jessica Alba as Sartana Rivera). Blades and bullets carve up and shoot through a copious cast of ruffians as justice is delivered with unrelenting speed and precision.

The following strengths permeate Machete: it takes itself seriously while seeming unconcerned and distracted which results in a confident cohesive bravado; there are plenty of ridiculous situations and conversations which accentuate its robust candour; voluptuous babes, a pure and indestructible hero, mayhem, and a clearly defined purpose; over the top incompetent villains who are consistently outmaneuvered and thwarted; classic showdown in the end heralded by several acrobatic and athletic escapes throughout; solid response to harsh immigration laws; these features and many others coalesce to forge a thrilling A-listed B-movie whose volatile vendettas and frenetic flesh provides myriad treats for the senses. But the writing lacks the hilarious moments that made Planet Terror superlative kitsch and many scenes consistently fall flat as a consequence. This isn't necessarily a bad thing considering that many of the films to which Machete pays homage possess similar scripts. But many of these films aren't the greatest and Planet Terror worked because it was one of the greatest not-so-great films of the early 2000s, one of my favourites anyways. I'm afraid that without the linguistic skill and ingenuity that adhesively structured Planet Terror's action and dialogue, Machete is little more than a vivid and harmonious recapturing of a lacklustre aesthetic, perfectly sliced, yet lacking innovation.

Always san-chôme no yûhi (Always, Sunset on Third Street)

Felt strange watching a Japanese film that wasn't full of monsters, samurai warriors, or drug addicts and femme fatales. Apparently, there's a huge market for melodramas and tear jerkers in Japan as well. Who knew! Takashi Yamazaki's Always san-chôme no yûhi (Always, Sunset on Third Street) is one such melodrama and it tugs at the heartstrings while presenting colourful characters in an urban setting. The narrative is basically divided along artistic and mechanical lines. Ryunosuke Chagawa (Hidetaka Yoshioka) dreams of becoming a famous noteworthy writer and ending his days composing mainstream popular books. He was cast out by his family for pursuing the literary life and is consistently ridiculed by the hot-tempered garage owner Norifumi Suzuki (Shin'ichi Tsutsumi). Norifumi employs Mutsuko Hoshino (Maki Horikita) who has just arrived from the country and is none to pleased when she discovers his garage is not a prosperous automotive plant. While Ryunosuke is characterized by meekness, Norifumi expresses himself through rage, and the two form an entertaining odd-couple relationship. Poverty and manners of representation are examined throughout, most characters being forced to make tough decisions as a result of their predicaments. But as they make these decisions friendships grow and personalities change as responsibilities increase and families multiply. Sure, Always san-chôme no yûhi doesn't have a group of survivors boldly holding out against the mighty Godzilla, and the ancient code of the samurai is neither interrogated nor referred to. But it does showcase the ups and downs of following your dreams in a sentimental fashion that is more enlightening than maudlin, and it felt good to get caught up in its quotidian routines. With reversals and adventures and orphans and heartbreak, Always san-chôme no yûhi may be a bit much to take at times, but it still successfully develops a vibrant, convivial, volatile life of its own, more compelling than incorrigible, for which everything does not work out in the end.

Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby

Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby is consistently funny. There isn't much of a point which is nice. It concerns the life and times of Ricky Bobby (Will Ferrell) who wants to grow up and drive really fast. The comedy is produced by a number of extended awkward scenes wherein propriety is recast and reconstituted according to the guidelines of driving really fast (notably the grace, rehabilitation knife, and Ricky Bobby meets Jean Girard [Sacha Baron Cohen] scenes). Juvenile and spontaneous yet sophisticated and structured (editing by Brent White), the successful jokes and offbeat characters/situations thoroughly lap their demobilized opposition. Several themes appear, lay dormant, are referred to quickly, and then revitalized (Ricky's relationship with his father [Gary Cole] for instance), as a multidimensional cast adds different layers of comic sensitivity to the narrative. Ricky Bobby does drive really fast and so does his lifelong best friend Cal Naughton, Jr. (John C. Reilly). Worth several laps around the track, Talladega Nights presents and promotes a worthwhile down home country concern, with confidence and potency, the occasional piece of historical trivia, and a number of observations regarding values. It's well done.

Dinner for Schmucks

Stacking awkward conversations and embarrassing situations upon harrowing miscommunications and mismanaged revitalizations, twisting it all up, and igniting a raging disorienting inferno, of comedy, Jay Roach's Dinner for Schmucks delivers a consistently progressing discomforting crescendo, within which Tim (Paul Rudd) must come to terms with Steve Carell's Barry. A prestigious promotion is within Tim's clutches if he can 'negotiate' a deal and impress his new contemporaries. At the same time, he must find an individual whose relationship with reality can be thought of as questionable and bring him or her to his boss's party. The party showcases representatives of the peculiar, the person possessing the most distance unknowingly winning the day. But when Tim's partner Julie (Stephanie Szostak) discovers this malevolent purpose, she forbids him from attending, throwing an ethical wrench into his professional plans. Conscience and economics then engendger a combustible quandary, which thoroughly complicates what it means to do the right thing.

Steve Carell shines and saturates Dinner for Schmucks with a cheerfully disconcerting other worldly constitution, whose gesticulating regulations coordinate comedic justice. I shook my head several times. Paul Rudd holds his own and soberly responds to Carell's offbeat harmonies. A light-hearted comedy filled with sandpaper and pith, Dinner for Schmucks will demand your attention if you don't mind sitting back to shiver and squirm. Here's hoping one day Carell finds his Dr. Strangelove. Excellent supporting performances from Zach Galifianakis and Jemaine Clement.

Easy A

The rumour patrol, derisively and intrusively guided by, well, everyone, in some little way, for abstract, practical, or theoretical purposes, always and forever. Will Gluck's Easy A examines the strengths and weaknesses of a malevolent high school rumour machine, full of invective and austerity, delineations and miscommunications, as it attempts to ruin the reputation of Olive Penderghast (Emma Stone). But Olive's smarter than your average bear, and she uses her classmate's curiosity and stereotypical subservience to elevate the social status of the downtrodden, while quietly accepting her scarlet letter. The film excels at presenting sensational subject matter in a subdued yet occasionally theatrical manner designed for young adult audiences yet containing enough elderly content to appeal to the middle-aged, and others, as well (this form subtly heralded by the coy opening credits). Olive's parents (Patricia Clarkson and Stanley Tucci) steal the show, but then Thomas Haden Church steals portions of their booty from them, while Stone herself makes off with a queen's ransom. An engaging examination of the potential horrors of high school distilled and distributed by an appealing 'iconoclast,' Easy A's case study suggests that the solution to overcoming ruthless gossip is to find true love, unless he or she is secretly unfaithful, which, I guess, is kind of saccharine. Good movie though.

La hérisson (The Hedgehog)

The film version of Muriel Barbary's L'elégance du hérisson (The Elegance of the Hedgehog) presents several of the novel's intriguing developments in a necessarily condensed form. Paloma (Garance Le Guillermic) still wishes to commit suicide and Renée Michel (Josiane Balasko) is still the secretly atypical concierge, reluctant to engage in personal social interactions with her clients. Screenwriter and director Mona Achache negotiates the tempestuous gulf providentially cultivated between a character's thoughts in a novel and their depiction in a film by having Paloma shoot and narrate a documentary throughout, thereby maximizing the number of literary ideas transmitted without relying to heavily on intrusive objective narration. The introduction of Mr. Ozu (Togo Igawa) is much more subtle in the novel and his perspicacious intuition comes across as somewhat larger than life (if not forgivably endearing). Paloma's acute perceptively dour psychological observations incisively and playfully occupy its forefront, while Renée's metamorphosis gradually picks up steam. Not sure what either Barbary or Achache are saying by having Renée die as soon as she begins to transcend her preoccupations with her thoroughly researched conceptions of her culture's general attitude concerning her personality as it relates to her job, apart from the fact that it dissuades Paloma from committing suicide, but that's another matter. Thoroughly entertaining, piquantly quizzical, and enigmatically enlightening, Achache's film compliments Barbary's novel even if their relationship could be a little less direct.

The American

At first I thought The American was going to be a terrible film. The introductory scenes have a peculiar logic that doesn't make much sense and George Clooney's (Jack/Edward) performance within is anything but exceptional. But as it unreels and the motifs and situations percolate and blend, slowly and harmoniously disseminating character, philosophy, and metaphor, utilitarian and reflexive, frank yet cunning, a life force begins to shine forth, greater than the sum of its parts, as an assassin tries to escape his fate and freely retire from his cloak and dagger existence. For once a priest is shown to be an honourable man (Paolo Bonacelli), judgments regarding controversial occupations are suspended, mature desires coalesce with ubiquitous anxieties, and professional foresight outwits calculated terminations. Some of it's kitschy and sensational but these scenes often conclude with a sinisterly provocative resolution which reflects the subtleties of the predictable. A uniformly paced paranoid template within which a nocturnal narrative timorously pulsates and maneuvers, The American outwits expectations and undermines its overt manifestations. Directed by Anton Corbijn with an excellent performance from Mr. Clooney.

The Kids are All Right

Lisa Cholodenko's The Kids are All Right covers the volatile disruptions affecting a family of four after a married lesbian couple's two children seek out their biological father. His freewheeling bohemian ways conflict with the family's traditional order of things as he challenges, complicates, and reinvigorates their dynamic. Bourgeoisly examining themes such as child rearing, conjugal power struggles, friendship, ethnocentrism, adultery, philandering, and young adult relationships, The Kids are All Right has a multidimensional character which elevates its aesthetic. Effectively normalizing gay marriage for right wing audiences, while problematically making light of the harsh treatment of Mexican workers(thereby highlighting the phenomenon's unconscious cultural agency), The Kids are All Right successfully investigates manifold topics, presenting robust characters and humanized ideals.

Trois temps après la mort d'Anna (Mourning for Anna)

Presenting the harrowing struggles of a mother whose daughter is murdered in the prime of her youth, Catherine Martin's Trois temps après la mort d'Anna (Mourning for Anna) traumatically accentuates what it means to profoundly suffer. Stripping the narrative down to its bear essentials and rarely even moving the camera, Martin's portrait of Françoise's (Guylaine Tremblay) breakdown is desolate, poignant, and bleak. After her daughter's death, Françoise moves from Montréal to a remote family home in Kamouraska in order to confront her grief. Isolated, desperate, and alone, her mind begins to play tricks, and long lost family members suddenly appear. In a moment of despair, she collapses in a snowbank only to be rescued by a local painter (François Papineau as Edouard). As the film continues, Françoise subtly convalesces thanks to Edouard's patient kindness. Trois temps après la mort d'Anna substitutes landscapes and imagery for dialogue and action, illuminating a barren portrait of a mother's battle with spiritual destitution. Stark and lean yet vivacious and colourful, it directly submits a uniform thesis, leaving us free to respond with intuitive perceptions.