Philip Roth has been a lion of American literature since the 1950s, though that success hasn't always translated to the screen, with a common description of Roth's writing being "unfilmable." 1969's GOODBYE, COLUMBUS, adapted from Roth's 1959 National Book Award winner, was a critical and commercial hit that put Richard Benjamin and Ali MacGraw on the map. But when Benjamin was tapped to star in another Roth adaptation with 1972's PORTNOY'S COMPLAINT, lightning didn't strike twice and the results were so disastrous that it would be over 30 years before anyone attempted another big-screen take on Roth. Robert Benton's THE HUMAN STAIN opened to middling reviews in 2003, and Barry Levinson's THE HUMBLING (based on one of Roth's most critically panned works) only made it to a handful of theaters in 2015. Other than GOODBYE, COLUMBUS, the only Roth adaptations to receive any notable degree of acclaim were 2008's ELEGY, based on his 2001 novel The Dying Animal, and 2016's INDIGNATION. 2016 also saw the release of the long-planned AMERICAN PASTORAL, based on Roth's 1997 Pulitzer Prize winner about a well-to-do family falling into turmoil in the late 1960s. In various stages of development since 2003, filming actually began on a version in 2012 with Fisher Stevens at the helm and husband and wife Paul Bettany and Jennifer Connelly starring, but the project fell apart and was scrapped almost immediately. It got rolling again in 2015 with some help from Chinese co-producers TIK Films, with Connelly still attached and now heading the cast with Ewan McGregor in place of Bettany, but when director Philip Noyce quit during pre-production, McGregor himself stepped in to make his directorial debut. AMERICAN PASTORAL was touted as a major 2016 awards contender but that never panned out, as the initial reviews were so overwhelmingly negative that Lionsgate bailed on the film, pulling the plug on its nationwide rollout and stalling its release at just 70 screens for a gross of $550,000.
Considering its internationally revered source novel, AMERICAN PASTORAL the film is a complete disaster, the kind of transparently phony awards bait that wears its bloated sense of self-importance on its sleeve. You can actually see the film completely collapse around the 23-minute mark, when we get our first look at stuttering 16-year-old Merry Levov (Dakota Fanning) as she's cooking burgers in the kitchen. She's having a pleasant conversation with her father Seymour "Swede" Levov (McGregor) when the sight of LBJ on TV provokes a profane, hysterical meltdown. She excoriates Swede and her mother Dawn (Connelly) over their upper-middle class complacence, with Swede running his dad's (Peter Riegert in cartoonish Oy, vey! mode) Newark glove factory and Dawn having her own cow pasture on their expansive property in rural Old Rimrock. When Dawn tells Merry "You're not anti-war...you're anti-everything!," Merry concludes this bug-eyed, out-of-nowhere tirade by shouting "And you're pro-cow!," spitting her burger on the floor and storming out of the house, prompting Swede to go into her bedroom to find the walls plastered with anti-war, Weather Underground-like pamphlets and flyers calling for revolution as Buffalo Springfield's "For What It's Worth" cues up on the soundtrack, modern cinema's universal sign that the times they-are-a-changin' and it's...the Sixties, man! AMERICAN PASTORAL never recovers from this jaw-droppingly awful scene, as the Levovs' cushy existence is upended when Merry becomes a fugitive after blowing up the Old Rimrock post office and killing the local mailman. This leads to endless malaise and ennui in the lives of the Jewish Swede, a high-school football legend, and the Catholic Dawn, a shiksa who was Miss New Jersey in the 1947 Miss America pageant.
McGregor and journeyman screenwriter John Romano (who's had a long career in writing for TV on everything from HILL STREET BLUES to the recent HELL ON WHEELS) cut out huge chunks of Roth's novel willy-nilly to focus on how the general sense of the Sixties, man! takes its toll on the Levovs, though they do leave in a 2002-set framing device with recurring Roth character Nathan Zuckerman (David Strathairn) that really doesn't add anything to the story. AMERICAN PASTORAL relies on trite cliches and overwrought hysteria, with McGregor demonstrating no clue how to direct himself or his actors: Fanning's vein-popping overacting through clenched teech and flared nostrils is actually embarrassing to watch, especially since that palpable rage comes out of nowhere and wasn't present in the 12-year-old Merry we see played by a younger actress in earlier scenes. The first time we see Fanning, she's boiling with uncontrollable, shrieking fury and we don't know why. Even Connelly is terrible here, saddled with an unplayable character whose big scene has her showing up at Swede's factory, off her meds and babbling incoherently, dancing around totally nude except for her Miss New Jersey sash. At one point, a cop tells Swede "You've done everything wrong you possibly could've." I think that actor was breaking character and speaking directly to McGregor. AMERICAN PASTORAL is a botched misfire, but hey, congrats to PORTNOY'S COMPLAINT: you're no longer the worst big-screen Philip Roth adaptation. (R, 108 mins)
KING COBRA
(US - 2016)
Though it frequently succumbs to the cliches that come with almost any post-BOOGIE NIGHTS look at the seedy underbelly of the porn world, KING COBRA shifts gears into a grim and bleak thriller that benefits from the twists and turns of the real-life events on which it's based. Based on Andrew E. Stoner and Peter A. Conway's true crime chronicle Cobra Killer: Gay Porn Murder, the film follows wide-eyed innocent Sean Paul Lockhart (Garrett Clayton) as he arrives in the relatively non-descript northeastern Pennsylvania from San Diego, intent on becoming a star for Cobra Video, a web-based gay porn production company owned by Stephen (Christian Slater). Middle-aged Stephen (a character based on Cobra Video head Bryan Kocis) is drawn to young, late-teens "twinks," and he has a particular affinity for Sean, growing extremely jealous when he shows interest in other men. Stephen directs a series of videos with Sean starring under the name "Brent Corrigan," and after a falling out when Sean begins aggressively demanding more money and objecting to Stephen's controlling attitude, the pair part ways in an acrimonious split that jeopardizes both of their careers when Sean reveals he lied about his age and was only 17 when Stephen directed his first videos. Meanwhile, Joe Kerekes (James Franco, one of 29 credited producers) and Harlow Cuadra (Keegan Allen), a pair of sketchy escorts and amateur gay porn entrepreneurs running a low-rent company called Viper Boyz, are trying to break into the big time, living way beyond their means convincing themselves that they're on the level of Cobra Video. $500,000 in debt and increasingly desperate, the unstable and manipulative Joe reaches out to "Brent" to forge a business partnership based on the "Brent Corrigan" name, but Sean isn't legally allowed to use it since Stephen had the name copyrighted as a property of Cobra Video. While Sean tries to broker a peaceful agreement with Stephen, Joe and Harlow decide to deal with it in a manner that befits their thoughtless, volatile nature: they kill Stephen and set his house on fire in a half-assed attempt to cover it up.
All of this occurred from 2004 to 2007, and other than changing the name of Slater's character, it gets all the pertinent details down, albeit a bit glossed over and rushed considering the film only runs 90 minutes. It's a rare instance of a movie that could've been improved if it ran a little longer, with some more time allotted to explore the smaller details. Writer-director Justin Kelly keeps things moving briskly and copies from the best, with much of the film having that same tense vibe as the section of BOOGIE NIGHTS where everyone's hitting bottom (Dirk hustling, Rollergirl in the limo, etc). He gets mostly strong performances from his cast, with a really skeezy Franco doing his best to channel Willem Dafoe in AUTO-FOCUS mode but sometimes going overboard, and Clayton and Allen doing solid work as the naive and, in the case of Allen's Harlow, dumb young twinks being manipulated by the older men projecting their neuroses on to them. Molly Ringwald has a small role as Stephen's wholesome, oblivious sister and if you want to feel really old, Alicia Silverstone plays Sean's mom (yes, Alicia Silverstone is 40 now). But the real standout is Slater who, between Lars von Trier's NYMPHOMANIAC and his Golden Globe-winning work on the acclaimed TV series MR. ROBOT, has very quietly been taking his career seriously again in between his frequent gig as a guest co-host on LIVE WITH KELLY. Slater sells every facet of Stephen's mercurial personality. He puts up a front for his sister and his neighbors, pretending he makes a living as a photographer at kids' birthday parties, but when it comes to Cobra Video, he stops at nothing to get what he wants. He's soft-spoken and sensitive, insanely jealous, a creepy manipulator of barely-legal boys far away from their homes, and a ruthless businessman who never hesitates to remind Sean/"Brent" that he owns him. It's a complex and fearless performance by Slater, who manages to make you feel some degree of sympathy for Stephen--he fears growing old alone and Sean did lie about his age with a very well-crafted and believable fake ID. KING COBRA has to get to the circumstances surrounding Stephen's murder, but it loses something once Slater exits the movie with about 30 minutes to go. He's so good here that you almost wonder if a more interesting film could've been made by just focusing on his Bryan Kocis-inspired character. As it is, KING COBRA is a decent film, and one of the more relatively accessible James Franco indie productions of late (more than, say, INTERIOR. LEATHER BAR., for example), and the story is so intriguing that it may leave you wanting more substantive details into the world of Cobra Video. (Unrated, 92 mins, also streaming on Netflix)
THE CRASH
(US - 2017)
A financial thriller set in the near future that plays like the 1981 flop ROLLOVER if remade by the most annoying Ron Paul supporter in your Facebook newsfeed, THE CRASH is a lecture disguised as a movie. Written and directed by Aram Rappaport, last seen watering down 2013's SYRUP, a pointless adaptation of Max Barry's scathing 1999 novel satirizing corporate marketing and branding, THE CRASH renders itself dated immediately as it assumes Hillary Clinton won the 2016 election, with "Madame President" a fleetingly-seen character (played by Laurie Larson) late in the film. After cyber-terrorists hack the NYSE and threaten to bring down the global economy in 48 hours, Treasury Secretary Sarah Schwab (Mary McCormack) only sees one option: hiring master hacker and market manipulator Guy Clifton (Frank Grillo, also one of 29 credited producers) to thwart the attack. Clifton's currently facing SEC charges of hacking the Chicago Mercantile Exchange to benefit his own companies and previously hacked into the NYSE. He's somehow not in prison but he'll be granted immunity on the latest charges if he and his crack team of computer wizards and financial experts can stop the cyber attack and keep the economy stable. This mostly involves Clifton and his cohorts--sultry market analyst Amelia Rhondart (Dianna Agron), ALS-afflicted hacker George Diebold (John Leguizamo), and genius programmer Ben Collins (Ed Westwick)--spouting endless financial jargon while staring at monitors in the makeshift command center set up in Clifton's mansion. Clifton's got other things on his plate: his wife Shannon (Minnie Driver) isn't convinced this will keep him out of prison, and his 18-year-old daughter Creason (AnnaSophia Robb) is suffering from cancer and isn't responding to chemo. And she just got dumped by her secret boyfriend Ben.
THE CRASH runs just 84 minutes--and even then it's padded with super-slow-moving end credits kicking in around the 78-minute mark--yet it feels roughly three hours long. There's a way to make financial thrillers intriguing and suspenseful--BLACKHAT and the little-seen AUGUST come to mind--but Rappaport still feels the need throw in some disease-of-the-week TV-movie melodrama with Creason, and relies on too much in-your-face shaky cam, perhaps with the intention of making the viewer feel as backed-against-the-wall as Clifton, but it doesn't work. The more the film goes on, the more preachy and obvious it gets, especially with a corrupt, sneering Federal Reserve chairman named Richard Del Banco, who any seasoned moviegoer will correctly deduce is a scheming Dick from the Bank the moment they see he's being played by Christopher McDonald. By the end, with a mole inside Clifton's team planting a virus that creates a domino effect of collapsing world economies (of course, there's still time for Clifton and Ben to have a heart-to-heart and reach an understanding about dumping Creason) as "Madame President" stands around helplessly while her aides scramble and freak out, Clifton has a change of heart and just lets it fail, followed by an end crawl passive-aggressively advocating the abolishing of the Federal Reserve. Considering what I've seen of his work with SYRUP and now THE CRASH, I think the bigger priority is abolishing Aram Rappaport's DGA membership. (Unrated, 84 mins)
NYMPHOMANIAC (Denmark/Germany/France/Belgium - 2013; US release 2014) Written and directed by Lars von Trier.
VOL I: Cast: Charlotte Gainsbourg, Stellan Skarsgard, Stacy Martin, Shia LaBeouf, Christian Slater, Uma Thurman, Sophie Kennedy Clark, Connie Nielsen, Jens Albinus, Hugo Speer, Cyron Melville, Felicity Gilbert, Anders Hove, Jesper Christensen, Saskia Reeves, Ananya Berg, Nicolas Bro. (Unrated, 117 mins)
VOL II: Cast: Charlotte Gainsbourg, Stellan Skarsgard, Stacy Martin, Shia LaBeouf, Christian Slater, Jamie Bell, Willem Dafoe, Mia Goth, Jean-Marc Barr, Udo Kier, Michael Pas, Caroline Goodall, Kate Ashfield, Ananya Berg, Shanti Roney, Kookie Ryan, Papou. (Unrated, 124 mins)
Arthouse provocateur Lars von Trier prides himself on walking the fine line between visionary auteur and misanthropic asshole, a firm believer that any publicity is good publicity, whether he's putting his lead actresses through hell to get the performance he needs from them, or prompting John C. Reilly to walk off of 2005's MANDERLAY over filming the actual slaughter of a donkey, or getting kicked out of the Cannes Film Festival for saying he sympathizes with Hitler. Like a bratty kid, von Trier revels in attention but with rare exception, backs it up with great films. When he announced NYMPHOMANIAC would run over five hours and include professional actors in unsimulated, hardcore sex scenes, the buzz was on. While the director's complete five-and-a-half hour cut was released in Europe, the US release was split into two films running around two hours each, released a few weeks apart (the director's cut will likely surface on Blu-ray). Von Trier supervised the US cuts, and while much explicit material was removed, quite a bit remains, including some penetrative shots that involve body doubles and CGI trickery melding the below-the-belt region with the name actors' bodies from the waist up. In other words, Shia LaBeouf may have auditioned for the film by sending von Trier a homemade sex tape, and while he's doing frontal nudity, the erection and beyond are the work of his body double. The same goes for actress Stacy Martin fellating a man (Jens Albinus) on a train. It's a very real-looking prosthetic penis, and while we see semen drooling out of Martin's mouth, the director's cut apparently shows the spurting ejaculation, for those so inclined.
A lot of this is von Trier just being von Trier, but contrary to initial reports and the director's own incessant hype, NYMPHOMANIAC, at least in its US incarnation, isn't quite the wall-to-wall porno fuckfest that it's been made out to be. In many ways, it's a von Trier greatest hits package, with cues from and callbacks to his past films like DOGVILLE (2003), ANTICHRIST (2009) and especially BREAKING THE WAVES (1996). It's von Trier's third straight film with Charlotte Gainsbourg, who's become his muse in misery after the harrowing ANTICHRIST and MELANCHOLIA (2011), where she initially has a supporting role but becomes the focus as the film progresses. Von Trier has a history of pushing his actresses to their limit and getting incredible work from them: Emily Watson's Oscar-nominated performance in BREAKING THE WAVES remains one of the greatest in all of cinema, while Bjork surpassed all expectations in DANCER IN THE DARK (2000). DOGVILLE's Nicole Kidman and MANDERLAY's Bryce Dallas Howard also survived von Trier and lived to tell the tale. In Gainsbourg, von Trier has found a kindred spirit who's willing and eager to go to the dark places others won't. She's the Klaus Kinski to his Werner Herzog, minus the mutual death threats.
As the first half of NYMPHOMANIAC opens, bookish academic Seligman (Stellan Skarsgard) happens upon the unconscious Joe (Gainsbourg) lying in an alley, beaten and bloodied. He helps her back to his apartment, lets her shower and makes her some tea. They begin talking, first about little things, and then she agrees to tell her story. Von Trier plays with the time element a bit, but in the first volume, much of the dramatic weight is carried by 22-year-old newcomer Martin as young Joe. As older Joe explains, "I discovered my cunt as a two-year-old," and before her age is in double digits (Ananya Berg plays Joe at this age in some discreetly-shot sequences that imply more they show), Joe and her best friend B are exploring themselves in ways that are already threatening to go beyond sliding down the bannister and grinding themselves against the bathroom floor. At the age of 15 (and now played by Martin), Joe asks local stud mechanic Jerome (LaBeouf) to take her virginity, which he does in the most perfunctory fashion imaginable. Nevertheless, the beast has been unleashed as Joe and B (Sophie Kennedy Clark) have contests like sneaking on to a train and screwing as many men as possible during the trip. They even form a club at school devoted to the pursuit of sex without love, though B eventually comes to her own realization that "the secret ingredient to sex is love." Joe believes that love complicates things, and continues sleeping with as many men as possible, eventually reconnecting with Jerome when she applies for a secretarial job at a printing company owned by his uncle (Jesper Christensen), even though she has no secretarial skills. She resists Jerome's advances, spending her evenings maintaining a busy schedule of hourly appointments with men who drop in to have sex with her, often passing one another as one arrives and the other leaves. By her own estimate, she's sleeping with up to eight men on a typical evening, and even devises an elaborate system for deciding which men she'll call back among the many messages on her answering machine. At the end of Vol. 1, Joe decides to settle down for domesticity with the now-successful Jerome, when she finds she can no longer reach orgasm.
In a brilliant debut, Martin is the focal point of the first half of NYMPHOMANIAC, and like Watson in BREAKING THE WAVES, she's up to the challenge even though von Trier saves the worst for Joe for when Gainsbourg assumes the role. For the first half, Gainsbourg is limited to sitting in bed as Joe tells Seligman her story, and the kind-hearted intellectual listens intently, often going off on thematic tangents involving fly fishing, cake forks, Bach, Poe, and mathematical theories that sort-of tie into the psychology of what Joe is telling him. Von Trier also gives Christian Slater his best role in years as Joe's doctor father in flashbacks. Joe loves her father deeply, and the two bond over their shared love of trees and flowers, neither feeling a connection to Joe's "cold bitch" mother (Connie Nielsen). As good as Martin and Slater are, the show-stealer for the first half is Uma Thurman in a one-scene stunner as the enraged wife of Mr. H (Hugo Speer), one of Joe's regular hookups. When Mr. H leaves his wife and shocks Joe by showing up at her place with his suitcases in tow, he's followed closely by Mrs H, who's dragged their three young sons along with her. If that wasn't awkward enough, Joe's next guy (Cyron Melville) shows up and everyone watches Mrs. H maniacally melt down, introducing the boys to Joe so they can "put a face to the all the therapy they'll need down the road," and saying "Would it be alright if I show the children the whoring bed? They need to see it! Let's go see Daddy's favorite place!" Thurman is onscreen for less than ten minutes but she makes every second count, and it's an instant classic of laughing while cringing in pained discomfort, one of those rare instances where a cameo is actually Oscar-worthy.
Vol. 2 picks up with Joe and Jerome married and having a baby. A few years pass as Martin exits and Gainsbourg takes over. The child, Marcel, is now three and though they love each other, Joe and Jerome's sex life has stalled. Jerome encourages her to see other men if it will help her psychologically ("If you buy a tiger, you have to keep it fed," he says). This goes on for some time and eventually leads Joe to the mysterious K (Jamie Bell). K seems to be some sort of Craigslist-type sex therapist/sadist who lives in what appears to be an abandoned office building where women show up for appointments to be beaten. K does not offer sex, and he doesn't allow safe words. You do what he says, period. Joe's sessions with K involve him renaming her "Fido," tying her to a couch, bent over, while he whips her bare ass with a riding crop, then inserting his fingers into her vagina to gauge her arousal. Things just get worse for Joe as her sex addiction, self-loathing and degradation cause her to lose her family. She can barely hold down her office job, routinely fucking male co-workers in the restroom or a closet space. She's ordered into therapy, where she lashes out against a society that judges her and tries to shame her. Now in her mid-40s, she eventually loses any feeling of pleasure, as her vagina is so scarred and worn from the thousands of men over three decades of hook-ups that it spontaneously bleeds, and causes numerous bouts of unbearable, debilitating pain. Joe eventually gets a job as a debt collector/extortionist for the shady L (Willem Dafoe), which leads to her shot at redemption by becoming a mentor to troubled teen P (Mia Goth).
While the first half of NYMPHOMANIAC has its share of dark moments, it's also surprisingly amusing in spots, such as Joe comparing her vagina to the automatic doors at a supermarket ("only with a stronger sensor") or when Seligman echoes the audience's call of bullshit with every one of Jerome's improbably hackneyed returns to the narrative. There's also the standard von Trier button-pushing bits like Joe getting wet standing by her father's death bed, and later in Vol 2, unsubtle Christ metaphors and Joe admitting that she feels a sympathetic kinship with a pedophile (Jean-Marc Barr) because of their "outcast" status (drawing thematic parallels to past von Trier outcasts ike the tragic Bess in BREAKING THE WAVES, Selma in DANCER IN THE DARK, and Grace in DOGVILLE and MANDERLAY). But it's the second half where things take a grim turn, largely with the intensely disturbing sequences involving Bell's K (the much-ballyhooed "Silent Duck" moment when K fists Joe is mostly implied, at least in the US cut), and the effect Joe's behavior has on Jerome and Marcel. I'm still not convinced that his recent public implosion isn't some extended von Trier-coordinated publicity stunt, but credit where it's due--funny accent and all, LaBeouf is actually quite good, especially in the second half. Given the extreme length and the myriad of directions the story takes, von Trier generally keeps things on point even when it threatens to derail at any moment. It only starts to feel choppy as things wind down, especially in the debt collection tangent, which comes out of nowhere and doesn't really feel like it belongs. As shown in her scenes at her jobs, Joe really has no skills other than sexual, which wouldn't seem a prerequisite for tough-talking collecting for a loan shark (perhaps the manipulation aspect?). Also, Joe's relationship with P is never fleshed out, at least not to the point where some of P's actions near the end make complete sense. I see the way the tables get turned and Joe is looking at things from another perspective, but it just feels like something's missing or got lost in the editing.
Like Seligman, the viewer is likely to be skeptical of some of Joe's story. There are many times over the course of the four hours when both Joe and to a lesser extent, Seligman seem like the classic "unreliable narrator." In many ways, NYMPHOMANIAC is film loaded with sex and not really specifically about sex. One popular theory is that Joe is a stand-in for von Trier and that Seligman is every stuffy, erudite, out-of-touch film critic who's judged and vilified him, though this involves a revelation by Seligman that I won't spoil. But Seligman doesn't judge Joe (other than being incredulous over some too convenient developments), which makes him different from every other man she's ever known other than her beloved father. There's a lot to take in--no pun intended--with NYMPHOMANIAC, so much so that sometimes the filmmaking itself is easy to overlook. There are some stunning shots and a strong Andrei Tarkovsky vibe throughout--one shot of older Joe finding "her" tree is breathtaking, and clothed or otherwise, the camera simply adores Martin, who has the most hauntingly seductive gaze you've seen in ages. Even seeing it split into two films--if you see it in its American incarnation, it's best to set four hours aside and just binge it--it probably still needs to be seen again in von Trier's original director's cut. Judging from viewing it in this format, it's not von Trier's best film--it seems to start stumbling with the introduction of L, though that's no fault of Dafoe's-- but it may be his most personal one, and one that reveals more of itself on repeat viewings, however soul-crushing and exhausting that may be. But that's vintage Lars von Trier. Love him or hate him, his films get you talking.
Nice to see we're still getting blatant ALIEN ripoffs 34 years after the Ridley Scott classic. STRANDED is especially sad since it's directed by Oscar-winning art director and set decorator Roger Christian, who worked on ALIEN as well as STAR WARS a couple of years earlier (that's where he got his Oscar). Christian made a very promising feature directing debut with the 1982 cult classic and back-in-the-day cable favorite THE SENDER, but things didn't exactly pan out for him as a filmmaker. Of course, your contributions to films like STAR WARS and ALIEN don't mean shit once you helm John Travolta's legendarily awful vanity project BATTLEFIELD EARTH. Now 69, Christian is reduced to STRANDED and it's such a sad sight that you're too busy feeling sorry for Christian to have any sympathy for Christian Slater, in yet another quick-buck gig on his way to becoming the new Michael Madsen. You can tell Roger Christian is an old-schooler in the jarring opening scenes, where he's not even attempting to hide that the space vessels and the mining colony on the moon are obvious miniatures. We're talking 1960s Antonio Margheriti miniatures, folks. But they aren't done in a kitschy or ironic way. No, STRANDED really is that cheap.
Slater is Gerard, the commander of a skeleton-crewed ore-mining ship that discovers some strange meteor spores on the moon. Scientist Ava (Amy Matysio) accidentally cuts herself while testing the spores and winds up with an accelerated pregnancy, giving birth to an alien/human hybrid a few hours later. Since there's only two other people on the ship, there's a lot of running around, shouting, and Gerard asserting his authority every few minutes by demanding that Ava be kept in quarantine before anything really horrific happens. Of course, the other crew members get infected and cause mayhem of their own, and by the time you get to admirably splattery airlock death that looks like it was achieved by a production assistant heaving a bucket of chunky Ragu at the door, you almost have to laugh. Not content to rip off ALIEN, the film also borrows imagery from the 1978 version of INVASION OF THE BODY SNATCHERS with shades of EVENT HORIZON. Even by 2013 standards, it looks cheaper than things like GALAXY OF TERROR (1981) and FORBIDDEN WORLD (1982), and those had spray-painted McDonald's Styrofoam containers stapled to a wall to simulate the inside of a spacecraft. Where those films had low budgets but were entertaining or ambitious enough that they still found audiences with ALIEN fans, STRANDED, with its cut-rate sets, disinterested performances, lazy script, and video-burned credits (this actually played in a few theaters) has a hard time mustering the cred to be mentioned alongside STAR CRYSTAL (1986) and NIGHTFLYERS (1987).
EVIDENCE (US - 2013)
The police procedural horror film EVIDENCE opens with a crawl about "The Unblinking Eye," a law-enforcement term for the usage of forensic video evidence in solving crimes. Of course, since EVIDENCE is also a found footage horror film, the detectives in question--unstable Reese (TRUE BLOOD's Stephen Moyer) and hard-nosed Burquez (Radha Mitchell) have a lot to work with since the events leading up to, and including, the brutal murders of several bus passengers at an abandoned factory outside of Las Vegas were all conveniently recorded by victims who naturally left the cameras rolling all through the mayhem. The found footage genre doesn't get much more anti-entertaining than this, with a constantly-swirling camera surrounding Reese and Burquez, along with underling Jensen (Aml Ameen) and overweight techie Gabe (Barak Hardley), in a Bourne-like crisis suite watching glitchy, pixelated footage as they try to piece the story together, with someone barking "The file's corrupted!" every 8-10 minutes in case you just started watching and think something's wrong with the image quality. Other inventive dialogue includes Reese gravely stating "He knew we'd be watching...he's challenging us," and lots of the LAW & ORDER: SVU/CSI franchise rapid fire declarations as the camera perpetually circles the actors.
Burquez: "He's a serial killer."
Jensen: "This wasn't his first."
Burquez: "And it won't be his last."
The footage comprising the bulk of the film has some people on a small charter bus to Vegas getting into an accident and being chased through the factory and offed one-by-one by a blowtorch-wielding psycho in a welding mask (maybe he's Robert Ginty's EXTERMINATOR 2 double?). Several red herrings are set up: a jilted boyfriend (THE CANYONS' Nolan Funk), a disgruntled Iraq War vet whose wife (Dale Dickey, the second-string Melissa Leo, cast radically against type as a rough-living woman who looks rode hard and put away wet) is on the bus, and even Reese, who gets his own tragic backstory clumsily shoehorned in and is played by a twitchy Moyer, but by the end, who cares? Also with Torrey DeVitto, Caitlin Stacey, and an overqualified Harry Lennix as the bus driver. Screenwriter John Swetnam expanded his 2011 short film, only here he's been replaced as director by Joe Carnahan protégé Olatunde Osunsanmi, who helmed 2009's Milla Jovovich faux-doc sci-fi scam THE FOURTH KIND. Terrible. (R, 94 mins)
If you enjoyed Jeffrey Combs' iconic turns in 1985's RE-ANIMATOR and 1986's FROM BEYOND, then you'll definitely want to take a look at his inspired performance in WOULD YOU RATHER. Combs, an actor whose talents have been too frequently squandered in subpar DTV horror movies and on the convention circuit, lets it rip as sinister philanthropist Shepard Lambrick, who hosts a dinner game for financially-strapped guests looking for a way out of their desperate situation. Iris (Brittany Snow), forced to drop out of school to deal with her late parents' mountain of debt and take care of her cancer-stricken younger brother (Logan Miller), ends up at Lambrick's mansion with other participants and the festivities begin with Lambrick offering the vegetarian Iris $10,000 if she eats a steak ("A lifetime of discipline...gone in an instant for $10,000!" he mocks). After goading recovering alcoholic Conway (John Heard) into ending 16 years of sobriety by downing a decanter of scotch for $50,000, the stakes get higher with a twisted game of Would You Rather where it quickly becomes apparent that Lambrick and his goonish butler Bevans (Jonathan Coyne), a former British intelligence interrogator, are going to make them kill each other until only one remains. Director David Guy Levy and screenwriter Steffen Schlachtenhaufen do a nice job of keeping the tension high and the pace swift, considering that most of the film takes place around a dining room table. While it has grisly moments, Levy also wisely keeps the gore to a minimum, showing an understanding that what's implied and maybe only heard offscreen can be far more unsettling than seeing it up close. It's a pretty misanthropic, feel-bad kind-of film that does occasionally succumb to cliché (of course, someone will scream "You sick fuck!" at Lambrick) and has some loose ends (Robin Lord Taylor, as Lambrick's sniveling son, disappears from the movie), but it's surprisingly engaging and Combs, bringing that "Who's going to believe a talking head? Get a job in a sideshow!" condescension to his character, is just terrific. (Unrated, 93 mins)
THE POWER OF FEW (US - 2013)
Here's yet another post-CRASH, "everything is connected" ensemble collection of vignettes and it's one of the worst. Produced, written, directed, and self-distributed by "groundbreaking" would-be indie auteur Leone Marucci, the New Orleans-shot THE POWER OF FEW gathers a group of unlikable characters into a 20-minute time span--replayed from different perspectives--where fate causes their lives to intersect. There's a homeless ex-news anchor (Christopher Walken) and his sidekick (Jordan Prentice), who come into possession of a dim cop's (Caleb Moody) misplaced firearm; a teenager (Devon Gearhart) attempting an impromptu robbery of a carryout because he needs to buy medicine for his infant brother; two undercover agents, one by-the-book (Christian Slater) and the other a hot-tempered cokehead (Nicky Whelan) in pursuit of a suspected terrorist (Navid Negahban); a quirky courier (co-producer Q'orianka Kilcher) hired by the suspected terrorist to deliver an important package, but she gets distracted by a meet-cute (Jesse Bradford) who's got bad people after him; and two thugs (Anthony Anderson, Juvenile) in pursuit of Bradford, only to be distracted by Few (Tione Johnson), a teenage girl with wisdom beyond her years, stowing away in the backseat of their car to plead with them to stop the violence and the killing.
Announced in industry trades as far back as 2006 and shot in 2010, THE POWER OF FEW was hyped as an "interactive" community filmmaking experience, where fans would get to edit the movie. That ended up being just a bit of a chase scene involving Kilcher and Bradford, though perhaps Marucci, not likely to be mistaken for Akira Kurosawa anytime soon, would've been better off letting random anonymous people on the internet work on this RASHOMON FOR DUMMIES. Pompously self-important and gratingly self-indulgent, the amateurish THE POWER OF FEW never gets going because Marucci can't stop showing off, whether it's a POV shot from a gunk-filled bathroom sink or dizzying over-the-shoulder shots when people are running. The writing is terrible (Slater: "We have to follow the law!" Whelan: "WHOSE LAW?!"), there's a ludicrous MacGuffin subplot about the missing Shroud of Turin and what's actually in the mysterious package, Larry King appears as himself, and several actors get long monologues that just go nowhere. Walken's might've worked if it wasn't painfully obvious that he's reading cue cards. Walken is a guy who's breathed life into his share of shitty movies and when even he's bad, you know the project is doomed. Put it this way: thanks to THE POWER OF FEW, KANGAROO JACK is now the second-worst movie that Walken and Anderson have appeared in together. (R, 96 mins)
CRAWLSPACE (Australia - 2012; 2013 US release)
CRAWLSPACE is somewhat of an Australian horror summit: produced by WOLF CREEK and ROGUE director Greg McLean, co-written by Adam Patrick Foster (the brutal revenge thriller CLOSURE) and featuring a score by STORM WARNING and NATURE'S GRAVE director Jamie Blanks, it's also the feature directing debut of veteran makeup effects artist Justin Dix, who worked on films like LAKE MUNGO and RED HILL. Dix gets a lot right with CRAWLSPACE, namely the sense of claustrophobia and his use of practical makeup and splatter effects, which in this era is almost an act of defiance, and he has a plethora of ideas, but whether it's meant to be twisty misdirection or just a fusing on influences, they all end up coming off as half-baked and unfocused, causing the film to drift into incoherence. The Australian government has lost contact with a secret underground military base located in the desolate Outback and sends in the requisite elite unit to locate personnel and exterminate any quarantined prisoners that may have escaped from a certain level. They also find a clearly non-human life form as well as Eve (Amber Clayton), an apparent amnesiac with a recent brain surgery scar. Eve has no recollection of how she got there, and her existence is also of interest to squad leader Romeo (the awesomely-named Ditch Davey, which is perhaps Australian for "Almost Jason Statham"), who recognizes her as his dead wife. The creature angle is quickly abandoned as the team, with Eve in tow, finds a couple of scientists who tell them of secret experiments involving memory implants and a new kind of espionage, a sort-of "psychic combat," where soldiers are trained to telepathically turn their enemies against themselves.
Dix borrows/steals from a lot of other films here and can't really settle on what kind of movie he wants to make: it starts off as an action-packed throwback to '80s fare like ALIENS mixed with the more recent RESIDENT EVIL, but then goes into a weird SCANNERS/UNIVERSAL SOLDIER hybrid, with elements of EVENT HORIZON and psychological horror tossed in at random. It's always watchable and certainly competently-made, but the plot is all over the place and around an hour in, you'll just stop caring and give up trying to make sense of it. Dix obviously has a knack for this sort of thing from a directing standpoint and he wears his love of these movies on his sleeve, which buys him a little breathing room, but it would be really interesting to see what he could do with a more disciplined script that didn't feel like it was bound with the pages in random order. (Unrated, 87 mins)
Directed by Walter Hill. Written by Alessandro Camon. Cast: Sylvester Stallone, Sung Kang, Jason Momoa, Sarah Shahi, Adewale Akinnuoye-Agbaje, Christian Slater, Jon Seda, Holt McCallany, Brian Van Holt, Weronika Rosati, Dane Rhodes. (R, 99 mins)
It's been eleven years since the words "A Walter Hill Film" appeared on the big screen in a new theatrical release, and the lean, mean, bone-cracking, head-splattering BULLET TO THE HEAD finds the man still in fine form. Hill first gained notoriety as a screenwriter, scripting Sam Peckinpah's THE GETAWAY (1972) among others before making his directing debut with the Depression-era bare-knuckle brawling classic HARD TIMES (1975). Numerous box-office hits and enduring movies-for-guys favorites followed: THE DRIVER (1978), THE WARRIORS (1979), THE LONG RIDERS (1980), SOUTHERN COMFORT (1981), 48 HRS (1982), STREETS OF FIRE (1984), EXTREME PREJUDICE (1987), RED HEAT (1988), JOHNNY HANDSOME (1989), ANOTHER 48 HRS (1990), TRESPASS (1992), GERONIMO: AN AMERICAN LEGEND (1993), WILD BILL (1995), LAST MAN STANDING (1997), and UNDISPUTED (2002). He co-produced the ALIEN films and the HBO series DEADWOOD, and also directed the cable TV mini-series BROKEN TRAIL (2006). He's been away for some time, and despite talk of behind-the-scenes friction with star Sylvester Stallone and a release date that was delayed multiple times (this was shot two years ago, and was completed before Stallone made THE EXPENDABLES 2), BULLET TO THE HEAD fits perfectly into the mold of what one expects from A Walter Hill Film, though it's hard telling if there's much mainstream multiplex interest in an action film starring a 66-year-old Stallone being directed by a 72-year-old Hill. This match-up really isn't that much different from all of those late '80s Cannon action movies starring a pushing-70-year-old Charles Bronson being directed by 75-year-old J. Lee Thompson. Stallone and Hill are older and obviously past their heyday, but they still have it. But after the catastrophic tanking of Arnold Schwarzenegger's THE LAST STAND, does anyone under the age of 40 really care? And will everyone over the age of 40 just wait for DVD/Blu-ray or VOD? It's as much of a question of an aging star's bankability as it is the changing landscape of film distribution.
Like the recent string of geriatric actioners in the wake of THE EXPENDABLES, BULLET TO THE HEAD is an instance of formulaic convention working to the film's advantage. When I say that it feels like it could've been made 25 years ago with few changes (cell phones, digital visual effects, Stallone's hair plugs), it's meant as a compliment. From the mismatched heroes to the smartass one-liners and racial stereotyping played for laughs to the abducted loved one all the way to the showdown at an abandoned factory, BULLET TO THE HEAD leaves no cliche untouched. It knows it's junk and has a good time with it. Is it up there with Hill's best work? No, but it's a nicely-done, highly entertaining nostalgia trip for fans of Hill, Stallone, and days gone by. And honestly, neither of these guys are interested in reinventing themselves at this point in their careers.
Stallone is James Bonomo, aka Jimmy Bobo, a New Orleans-based hit man and career criminal. Bobo and his associate Louis Blanchard (Jon Seda) are hired to whack Greely (Holt McCallany), a dirty ex-cop from D.C. Two hours after the job, Blanchard is killed and Bobo attacked by hulking ex-mercenary Keegan (Jason Momoa of GAME OF THRONES), who's been hired to off Bobo and Blanchard by the same guy who commissioned them to kill Greely. Bobo reluctantly forms an unholy alliance with visiting D.C. detective Taylor Kwon (Sung Kang of the FAST AND THE FURIOUS films), who's investigating Greely's murder against the wishes of the obviously corrupt local cops. Bobo and Kwon (which almost has the same ring as TANGO & CASH) have to set aside their differences as criminal and cop to work together to bring down the bad guys...if they don't kill each other first!
The man responsible is land developer and Nigerian crime kingpin Robert Nkomo Morel (Adewale Akinnuoye-Agbaje), who's trying to (what else?) knock down slum housing to build expensive properties. Bobo and Kwon get a flash drive from Morel's sleazy lawyer Marcus Baptiste (Christian Slater, sixth-billed and not even granted the dignity of an "and Christian Slater" credit) that details all of the local cops, politicians, and assorted big shots in Morel's pocket. And, in a turn of events that should surprise no one, Morel and Keegan have Lisa (Sarah Shahi), Bobo's tattoo-artist daughter.
To the abandoned factory for an axe fight!
Stallone and Kang make a good team, engaging in plenty of sarcastic and politically incorrect ballbusting (usually involving Bobo calling Kwon "Confucius" or "Oddjob" and telling him to "go read your tea leaves" or bitching about how Asians can't drive), and the seemingly gargantuan Momoa (who was effectively cast in the otherwise forgettable CONAN THE BARBARIAN remake in 2011) is a memorably imposing villain. While BULLET TO THE HEAD is essentially a Stallone vehicle, it's also distinctly Hill's. From the constant bantering (not quite on the level of Nick Nolte and Eddie Murphy's back-and-forth in 48 HRS) to the bluesy, guitar-driven, Ry Cooder-esque score by Steve Mazzaro, to the intense action sequences, BULLET TO THE HEAD (based on the French graphic novel Du Plomb dans la Tete) frequently feels like a Walter Hill greatest hits package, and while it breaks no new ground, it's a nice thing to see in 2013.
Were it not based on true events with material quoted directly from police reports, it would be easy to dismiss COMPLIANCE as one of the least believable thrillers in years. Inspired by a series of prank call scams over a 12-year period that authorities believe involve the same perpetrator, COMPLIANCE is a dramatization of the last such incident, one that took place at a McDonald's in Mount Washington, KY in 2004. Writer-director Craig Zobel takes small liberties--McDonald's becomes "ChickWich," the assistant manager in the real incident is changed to the store manager in the film, the caller used a supermarket pay phone but in the film, he's calling from his home using a prepaid cell, and all names have been changed--but what's onscreen is largely how the incident played out. Zobel's concern was to focus on the idea of obedience to figures of authority (think Stanley Milgram), be they law enforcement or in the structure of the workplace, specifically the rigid, by-the-book methods of a fast-food chain, but his script also gives the characters subtlely-displayed psychological reasons for some of what transpires. None of these prank calls lasted as long or went as far with as many people involved as the Mount Washington incident, and it's almost impossible to believe that it took several hours and an off-duty maintenance man to put a stop to what was happening.
On a busy Friday night at a ChickWich in rural Ohio, store manager Sandra (TV and stage vet Ann Dowd, given a rare big screen lead and running with it) is already on edge and nervous about telling her district manager about losing $1400 in food because of a refrigerator door that was left open all night. Her night goes from bad to worse when she gets a phone call from an Officer Daniels, who claims that he's got her district manager on the other line and he's with a customer who says that a cashier stole some money from her purse. "Daniels" gives a vague description that Sandra concludes to be Becky (Dreama Walker). Daniels orders Sandra to take Becky to the office, and an over-the-phone interrogation leads to a strip search, and far worse once Daniels badgers Sandra into getting her slightly drunk fiance Van (Bill Camp) involved. Zobel reveals early on that "Daniels" is in fact a seemingly well-to-do guy (Pat Healy) who's just calling from his own house and doing this for the sick thrill of seeing just how much he can manipulate them into obeying his increasingly ridiculous and dangerous demands. Anyone who's ever worked in a fast food or food or customer service environment will recognize how well Zobel captures the atmosphere, the jargon, and the mindset of such places. It helps that the film is cast with people who you've likely seen in many other things, but don't know their names and therefore don't have the distractions you might get if, say, Meryl Streep was playing Sandra. Dowd nails this character, just in the ways she's eager to please and be a team player (her district manager, the irate delivery driver, Daniels), and how, even in the stress of the situation, the harried boss in her still manages to reprimand Becky during the strip search for not wearing "the company's standard-issue khakis." Does Sandra have something against Becky? Is there a small part of her that's OK with what's happening? She did, after all, catch Becky and the much-younger assistant manager (Ashlie Atkinson) snickering behind her back at her awkward attempt to engage in girl talk. Walker also does a commendable job in a difficult and frequently uncomfortable role, spending a good chunk of the film wearing nothing but an apron. Produced by David Gordon Green (taking a break from directing terrible comedies that are sinking his once-sterling rep), COMPLIANCE is a riveting, intense, and often unpleasant film with a cast delivering believable performances as characters behaving in a very unbelievable fashion. (R, 90 mins)
DREDD (South Africa/UK - 2012)
Doing its best to blast away any bad memories of 1995's JUDGE DREDD, no one's favorite Stallone movie, DREDD is a hyper-stylized and outrageously violent take on the character created by John Wagner and Carlos Ezquerra, and is a much more successful interpretation. The film pretty much tanked in theaters, due in large part to its opening on a crowded weekend with about six other major releases, but this is one that will find a strong cult following in years to come. In the Cursed Earth wasteland of Mega-City One, merciless law enforcement officer Judge Dredd (Karl Urban) is assessing rookie partner Anderson (Olivia Thirlby), who failed her exams but has a strong psychic ability that Dredd's bosses think will be handy in the field. The two answer a homicide call at the 200-story slum block tower Peach Trees, home to 75,000 residents under the control of ruthless, scar-faced drug lord Madeline Madrigal, aka Ma-Ma (Lena Headey), who rules the market on the new and highly addictive street drug Slo-Mo, which creates the illusion of time moving at 1% of its speed for the user. Ma-Ma has had three rival gang members skinned alive and tossed off the top-floor balcony. Dredd and Anderson take one of Ma-Ma's gang, Kay (Wood Harris) into custody when Anderson's psychic senses confirm he's responsible for the three killings. Before they can exit Peach Trees, Ma-Ma orders the entire block put on lockdown, forcing Dredd and Anderson to shoot their way up and down the building, two against several hundred of Ma-Ma's enforcers.
Directed by Pete Travis (VANTAGE POINT) and scripted by novelist and frequent Danny Boyle collaborator Alex Garland (28 DAYS LATER, SUNSHINE), DREDD belongs to the same class of over-the-top insanity along the lines of PUNISHER: WAR ZONE (2008). Travis splatters gallons upon gallons of CGI blood (very cartoony, but appropriate in the context of the film) across the screen, with occasional old-school Karo syrup to keep it real. He does a nice job of establishing a John Carpenter-style siege situation, complete with non-stop, droning techno music, and DREDD immediately joins the short list of "high-rise mayhem" classics like DEMONS 2 (1986), ENEMY TERRITORY (1987) and DIE HARD (1988), and more recent examples like THE HORDE (2010), ATTACK THE BLOCK (2011), CITADEL (2012), and THE RAID: REDEMPTION (2012), to which it drew many unfair ripoff accusations. Urban is absolutely perfect as Dredd, and Thirlby holds her own as the wet-behind-the-ears rookie just trying to survive her first day on the job. The many scenes with characters under the influence of Slo-Mo probably played a lot better in 3D on the big screen than they do flat at home, but they provide some of the trippiest visuals this side of Gaspar Noe's ENTER THE VOID. DREDD simply had the misfortune of opening on the wrong weekend. It's one of the best action thrillers of 2012 and deserved a better reception. (R, 96 mins)
SLEEP TIGHT (Spain - 2011; 2012 US release)
Spanish horror master Jaume Balaguero, best known for co-directing the first two [REC] films with Paco Plaza, made this bleak, unsettling thriller while Plaza helmed [REC] 3 solo. SLEEP TIGHT is definitely the better film, with misanthropic apartment building concierge/handyman Cesar (Luis Tosar) engaging in a quiet war against the tenants of the building when he isn't contemplating suicide. First it's little things like letting plants die and giving a tenant's dog food that he knows will make it sick. Cesar soon devotes all of his psychotic energy to the endlessly upbeat Clara (Marta Etura). At first, Balaguero and screenwriter Alberto Marini deceive the viewer into thinking this is a riff on the 2011 Hilary Swank/Jeffrey Dean Morgan thriller THE RESIDENT, where he's obsessively fixated on her from a misguided romance angle when he sneaks into her apartment, goes through her things, uses her toothbrush, and hides under her bed, waiting until she's asleep to chloroform her and crawl into bed to snuggle with her while she's out cold. No, quite the contrary. He's unable to feel any joy or happiness in his life and simply wants to break her constantly positive, cheery personality. He purposely clogs her sink, hides a cherished watch that was a gift from her mother, sends her anonymous threatening text messages from a prepaid cell, plants cockroach eggs throughout her apartment and injects skin allergens into her cosmetic products to cause a miserable rash all over her body. When her apartment is overrun with cockroaches and he offers to fumigate it, he's enraged to find that she isn't even upset about having to throw so many of her things away. "Oh, well! It's time for spring cleaning anyway!" she says with a smile. Balaguero and Morini approach much of the film with a twisted sense of humor, but things eventually turn grim and violent when Clara rekindles a romance with her ex-boyfriend (Alberto San Juan), who immediately senses something isn't right with the concierge.
There's a few implausible moments here and there that stretch credibility and threaten to derail the train, such as the scenes where Cesar is tiptoeing through Clara's apartment undetected while she and the boyfriend are there, or the fact that there's no security system or cameras in such a nice building. But overall, thanks to a disturbing performance by Tosar (it's interesting to note that he and Etura have been a couple offscreen for several years), SLEEP TIGHT generally works, with some very suspenseful set pieces, generous portions of dark humor (particularly when Cesar finds an unexpected nemesis in a bratty neighbor girl who knows what he's up to but opts to blackmail him instead of telling anyone), and a creative structure in that the film is completely from Cesar's point of view and with the antagonist as protagonist, in a strange way, you find yourself oddly rooting for him when he's trying to glide through Clara's apartment undetected. Overall, Balaguero succeeds in making SLEEP TIGHT an interesting film with a different approach to the psycho stalker flick. (Unrated, 101 mins)
GUNS, GIRLS & GAMBLING (US - 2012)
This wretched, decade-and-a-half late throwback to the post-PULP FICTION wave of Tarantino knockoffs like THINGS TO DO IN DENVER WHEN YOU'RE DEAD (1995) and 2 DAYS IN THE VALLEY (1996) was on the shelf for two years before Universal quietly dumped it in one theater in L.A. in December 2012. There isn't a single thing that works in this tired, unfunny and utterly pointless endurance test that's only recommended for people who think DESTINY TURNS ON THE RADIO is a unsung gem waiting to be rediscovered. Nice guy John Smith (Christian Slater, whose presence draws obvious comparisons to TRUE ROMANCE) gets in over his head after a night of poker with four Elvis impersonators at a Native American casino. Someone has stolen a priceless Apache tribal mask, and now everyone in town is after it and killing everyone who gets in their way. Among the players: Elvis Elvis (Gary Oldman, another TRUE ROMANCE vet), Gay Elvis (Chris Kattan), Asian Elvis (Anthony Brandon Wong), Little Person Elvis (Tony Cox), The Rancher (Powers Boothe), The Cowboy (Jeff Fahey), The Girl Next Door (Megan Park), The Sheriffs (Dane Cook, Sam Trammell), The Chief (the late Gordon Tootoosis, who died in 2011), and The Blonde (Helena Mattsson, trying way too hard to be Charlize Theron), a sexy, Poe-quoting assassin. It's an endless series of flat jokes and predictable double crosses and the cast just looks lost, though chances are they had more fun making this than anyone will have watching it. I imagine Slater and Oldman (what is he doing in this?) probably reminisced about TRUE ROMANCE and maybe Oldman broke out his Drexl Spivey act to entertain his co-stars and the crew. Regardless, this is his worst career decision since TIPTOES. And for those keeping score, this is the second awful film Slater's made that involves a casino heist pulled off by Elvis impersonators. Did he learn nothing after surviving the wreckage of 3000 MILES TO GRACELAND? (Unrated, 90 mins, also available on Netflix streaming)
Veteran Canadian actress Sarah Polley showed maturity beyond her years when she made her writing/directing debut at 28 with 2007's AWAY FROM HER, a sensitive and emotionally devastating look an at aging couple struggling to cope when the wife (Julie Christie) is diagnosed with Alzheimers. As an actress, Polley has always chosen smart and creative projects, even in the occasional instances when she stars in something commercial (1999's GO or the 2004 remake of DAWN OF THE DEAD). Dating back to her childhood, Polley has worked with many great filmmakers--Terry Gilliam, Atom Egoyan, David Cronenberg, Wim Wenders, just to name a few--and she's learned from them. Her second feature, TAKE THIS WALTZ, is uneven and too frequently succumbs to quirkiness and occasionally feels "cute" to the point of annoyance. But it's a deliberate and clever misdirection and it enables the film to really sneak up on you in its much more effective second half. In a bohemian enclave in Toronto, travel writer Margot (Michelle Williams, who's very quietly become one of today's great actresses) and cookbook author Lou (a nice dramatic turn by Seth Rogen) have been married for five years and a sense of complacency has crept in. They have goofy rituals and talk to each other in funny voices and they seem more like close friends than a married couple. Entering the situation is Daniel (Luke Kirby), who Margot meets while on a research trip and it turns out he lives just a few doors down the street. They begin a flirtaceous but platonic relationship as Margot wrestles with the idea of the known/old (Lou) vs. the unknown/new (Daniel).
While Polley's script (and a lot of Williams' and Rogen's dialogue feels improvised) is frequently more quirky than it needs to be (Daniel works as a rickshaw driver?) and the dialogue in the early going too obviously prophetic (Margot on air travel: "I'm afraid of connections"), it eventually displays a level of honesty and complexity rarely seen in films like this. You ever notice in movies how, when men have affairs, they're selfish assholes, but when women have affairs, it's because they need to "find themselves"? Polley approaches it differently. Her characters are real (she takes a big risk by making Margot frequently obnoxious) and they're flawed. She and the film don't take sides, they don't make excuses, and they don't provide any easy answers. And when certain things are revealed, the characters respond like real people would respond (Rogen is especially good late in the film). TAKE THIS WALTZ can best be summed up by a line during a scene in a gym shower where Margot is listening to Lou's recovering alcoholic sister (Sarah Silverman, also good in a serious role) talk about the sense of boredom, the routine, and the lack of "new" in her own marriage, and an older woman overhears them and offers some simple words of experience and wisdom: "New things get old, too." (R, 116 mins)
SOLDIERS OF FORTUNE (US/Russia - 2012)
A lunkheaded but surprisingly entertaining "men on a mission" combat action film, the barely-released SOLDIERS OF FORTUNE gets off to a clunky and exposition-heavy start before finding its groove as a likably brainless second-string EXPENDABLES. For a while, it gets perilously close to being a subversively satirical commentary before backing up and focusing on blowing shit up. Maybe it's the overqualified cast that does a good job of selling it--and admittedly, it's a dumb movie--but I was surprised at how much I found myself enjoying it. In desperate need of cash, disgraced ex-Marine Christian Slater accepts a job with Soldiers of Fortune, a war-games resort company that caters to billionaires and assorted One-Percenters wishing to experience the thrill of warfare without the danger of actually being killed. With his fellow dishonorably discharged pal Freddy Rodriguez tagging along, Slater heads to Ukraine to whip his unlikely soldiers into shape: there's mining magnate Sean Bean, telecommunications giant James Cromwell, international arms dealer Ving Rhames, Wall Street hedge-fund dickwad Charlie Bewley, and spazzy video-game designer Dominic Monaghan. Essentially observers on a mercenary mission to Snake Island to topple a nefarious Russian colonel (Gennadi Vengerov), the rich fatcats are forced into battle when all of the experienced military guys except Slater are killed en route to the island. Of course, this is personal to Slater: the Russian's right-hand man is rogue CIA agent-turned-contractor Colm Meaney, who--wait for it--was the guy responsible for ruining Slater's military career.
SOLDIERS OF FORTUNE never takes itself seriously, and at times, it seems like it might cross the line into actual comedy. But even as a cliche-filled action film, it's a total guilty pleasure. Director Maxim Korostyshevsky does a good job making a low-budget film look a lot "bigger" than it really is. It's very nicely shot in some scenic Ukraine areas (a welcome change of pace from the dreary Bulgarian locations usually seen in this type of thing), there's some daring stunt work, convincing explosions (some CGI, some real), minimal shaky-cam, and a good mix of CGI blood with actual splattery squibs so as not to look completely cartoonish. There's nothing here you haven't seen before (sweeping aerial shot of the heroes walking a narrow path along the top of a mountain? Check! Sneering villain strutting into the room where the nabbed heroes are being held and gloating "Hello again, gentlemen..."? Check!), but the ensemble cast works very well together and they seem to be having a good time. Not a great or even a very good film by any means, but it's a lot of fun and accomplishes exactly what it sets out to do, and definitely deserved more than a 50-screen dumping with no publicity at all. (R, 94 mins)
THE WOMAN IN THE FIFTH (France/Poland - 2012)
This frustrating and impenetrable would-be thriller from acclaimed Polish director Pawel Pawlikowski (MY SUMMER OF LOVE) establishes a certain degree of interest for a while but it doesn't take very long to conclude that it simply isn't going anywhere. Tom Ricks (Ethan Hawke) is an American novelist and literature prof who arrives in Paris and drops in unexpectedly on his estranged wife (Delphine Chuillot) and young daughter (Julie Papillon), in apparent disregard of a restraining order. Ricks has recently had a mental breakdown and may or may not have been hospitalized or imprisoned. He's also a bit of a clueless doof, as he falls asleep on a bus and wakes up to find his bags stolen. He gets a room at a seedy bar/flophouse run by the obviously shady Sezer (Samir Guesmi), who agrees to provide room and board if Ricks will spend his evenings watching a video monitor outside a drug den that he owns. Ricks foolishly gets involved with Sezer's Polish girlfriend Ania (Joanna Kulig) while at the same time seeing a mystery woman named Margit (Kristin Scott Thomas) who he meets at a literary gathering. A third-act twist merely confirms what was suspected all along, but it still doesn't really provide any answers, as the whole story may or may not even be happening. It's really quite dull and pointless, and the pieces of the puzzle probably aren't even meant to fit, which would be fine if it was a visually interesting work. Hawke is fine in the lead, and plays most of his role in French, but THE WOMAN IN THE FIFTH isn't suspenseful, it isn't overtly stylish, and it's not erotic. It's the kind of ponderous snoozer that gives subtitled arthouse films a snobby rep. (R, 84 mins, also available on Netflix streaming)
