THE DROP (US/UK - 2014) Directed by Michael R. Roskam. Written by Dennis Lehane. Cast: Tom Hardy, Noomi Rapace, James Gandolfini, Matthias Schoenaerts, John Ortiz, Michael Aranov, Ann Dowd, Elizabeth Rodriguez, James Frecheville, Morgan Spector. (R, 107 mins)
Best-selling novelist Dennis Lehane (Mystic River, Gone Baby Gone, Shutter Island) scripted this adaptation of his short story "Animal Rescue" (also the film's working title) and moved the location from his usual haunt of Boston to the kind of blue-collar Brooklyn neighborhood that hasn't changed in decades. THE DROP is one of those low-key crime dramas from the FRIENDS OF EDDIE COYLE school that focuses on the "working-class stiff" element of the underworld, populated by guys who know guys with names like "Fitz" and "Sully" and barely scrape by as they nickel-and-dime their way through life. The characters in THE DROP have seen better days, and while some have made peace with their past and where it's taken them, others can't move on and do what they can do revisit a time that's never coming back. There's a profound sense of melancholy throughout THE DROP that's made even more poignant by the presence of the late James Gandolfini in his last film. Gandolfini, who died about three months after filming wrapped, isn't the central focus, but his presence--both his character and the actor himself--is felt in nearly every scene. Gandolfini was a distinctive actor who could also convey volumes with just a glance or a facial expression. Of course, he could also bellow like the best of them, and when he delivers the kind of line that a million other actors have delivered but sounds especially awesome when yelled by James Gandolfini ("What the fuck are you talkin' about?"), it's a joy for his fans to see that he went out with a good role in a good film that utilized him in the best possible fashion. He'll be missed.
THE DROP refers to a "drop bar," a rotating list of mob-owned bars in the Brooklyn area that serve as money drop-off and pickup points. Cousin Marv's is such a bar, and Marv (Gandolfini) still manages the place even though he was muscled out as owner a decade earlier when some Chechan gangsters took over. Now he answers to Chovka (Michael Aranov) and barely scrapes by serving shots to his dwindling number of regulars. His only regular employee is his cousin Bob (Tom Hardy). Bob is a quiet, introverted, church-going loner who shuffles around and only speaks when he absolutely has to. He has a kind heart, which gets him in trouble with Marv when he keeps giving free drinks to an area homeless woman, allowing her just a few hours each day to hang out in a quiet corner of the bar where she doesn't bother anyone. Bob's kindness extends to taking care of an injured, bloodied pit bull puppy he discovers in a trashcan in the yard of waitress Nadia (Noomi Rapace) on his walk home from work one night. The dog belongs to Eric Deeds (Matthias Schoenaerts), an intimidating neighborhood goon who used to date Nadia. Deeds beat the dog and threw it in Nadia's trash and keeps following Bob and showing up at his house demanding he turn it over to him. Deeds' stalking of Bob coincides with Bob and Marv getting some heat from Chovka after Cousin Marv's is robbed by a couple of masked gunmen who make off with $5000. Chovka wants his money and hasn't ruled out Bob and Marv pulling off an inside job, and Bob is also forced to contend with the skeptical detective (John Ortiz) investigating the robbery.
THE DROP is directed by Belgian filmmaker Michael R. Roskam, making his Hollywood debut. Roskam's arthouse breakthrough came with the brilliant 2011 film BULLHEAD, an Oscar-nominee for Best Foreign Language Film that featured a stunning performance by Schoenaerts, a gifted Belgian actor (he also played a similar Brooklyn tough guy role in this year's little-seen BLOOD TIES) who you can expect to be hearing a lot more from in years to come. Roskam does a terrific job of capturing a seedy side of Brooklyn that you don't see much of onscreen anymore in these days of hipster gentrification. The focus is more on character than action, and while the film isn't quite the mainstream audience alienator that something like, say, KILLING THEM SOFTLY was, it's certainly in that vicinity in terms of style and tone. In many ways, THE DROP feels a bit like something Sidney Lumet might've made in the late '90s or early '00s. It's a small-scale, simple little film that doesn't rely much on style, instead focusing on mood and atmosphere. This is a Brooklyn where homes have been in the family since post-WWII and sales of plastic furniture covers are still strong (and Marv still lives with his doting older sister, played by Ann Dowd). Hardy's performance is a case study in tightly-coiled tension, a time-bomb waiting to go off but doing so in a way that defies expectation. Like the film, Bob plays his cards close to the vest, and while he seems a little slow-witted at times and some even treat him as such, it comes to be seen as a defense mechanism. Bob has a past that he doesn't want to relive--note the calm and matter-of-fact way he deals with the discovery of a severed arm--and lives as solitary a life as possible to hold off the inevitable forces that he fears will eventually pull him back into that world. He never tries to be a hero until he's exhausted every other possible option. In LOCKE, Hardy played a pressured man boxed in by the confines of his car, but in THE DROP, his pressured character is boxed in by his own design. Rapace's Nadia is equally guarded about her own past, which includes Deeds as well as a nasty scar on her neck. They bond through the puppy, whom Nadia names Rocco, but both are shy, reserved, and hesitant to take anything further. Rapace played a somewhat similar role in last year's underappreciated DEAD MAN DOWN, and while she's a fine actress, she seems a bit miscast here, struggling and failing to hide her Swedish accent while Schoenaerts nails an absolutely perfect Brooklyn tone.
THE DROP will likely bore those looking for a gangster shoot-'em-up, and it's the kind of modestly-budgeted studio film that plays more like an indie. It's familiar, but overall, it's a fine film with an almost-throwback mentality to it. Roskam doesn't seek to break new ground in the crime genre and doesn't pretend his is the first film with a reluctant anti-hero pulled back into a life he's spent years trying to flee. While there are fleeting bursts of action and graphic violence, THE DROP is more concerned with being a compelling character piece and on that front, it's a success, anchored by the always-intriguing Hardy with excellent support from Schoenaerts and Gandolfini.
Detroit-born, Canada-based filmmaker Vincenzo Natali's place in the cult movie pantheon was established with his 1997 debut CUBE, but he's largely maintained a low-profile since. CUBE spawned two inferior follow-ups sans Natali, who instead went on to the mandatory unpleasant Miramax experience with the long-shelved CYPHER (dumped on DVD in the US in 2005, four years after it was shot), and then the quirky character piece NOTHING (2003), and a segment in 2006's PARIS, JE T'AIME. He returned to big-screen sci-fi with 2009's bonkers SPLICE, which proved a little too odd for the summer multiplex crowd, which brings us to his latest film, the ghost story HAUNTER. It's refreshingly old-school in its restrained approach, but it has some genuine scares, a sense of unease throughout, and a strong lead performance from LITTLE MISS SUNSHINE Oscar-nominee Abigail Breslin. Breslin is Lisa, a gothy teen in 1985 who seems condemned to live the same GROUNDHOG DAY-type scenario every single day. She lives with her parents (Peter Outerbridge, Michelle Nolden) and little brother (Peter DaCunha), and every day begins the same way, as they eat the same meals, do the same chores, and have the same arguments as Mom asks the same questions and Dad perpetually works on a car that just won't start. The phone is dead and the house is surrounded by thick fog. Only Lisa seems to realize that they're all dead and stuck in some sort of purgatory. Lisa uncovers clues in hidden doors and in the attic, and is visited by an ominously spectral "Pale Man" (a terrifying Stephen McHattie) who warns her to accept that she's dead and to stop trying to contact the living. Lisa has been somehow been summoned by the one of the house's present-day occupants, a teenage girl (Eleanor Zichy) whose father (David Hewlett) is seemingly possessed by the Pale Man, a serial killer who lived in the house prior to Lisa's family moving in. His victims' souls are trapped in the house, kept from rest by the vengeful Pale Man, but Lisa must find a way to cross over into the real world to prevent history from repeating itself with the family now occupying the house.
Natali and screenwriter Brian King (the pair previously collaborated on CYPHER) are wearing a lot of influences on their sleeves here. Not just GROUNDHOG DAY and THE OTHERS, but THE AMITYVILLE HORROR and THE SHINING, and a little of the 1988 cult classic LADY IN WHITE, and a lot of Lucio Fulci's THE HOUSE BY THE CEMETARY with its children reaching out to the living in a cursed house inhabited by a murderer who wreaks supernatural havoc on each new set of tenants. With its foggy surroundings, Natali blankets the film in an almost Euro-horror sheen with some unabashed Spielbergian sentimentality. Other than some cheap, TV-movie-looking visual effects, HAUNTER comes across like the kind of film that could've been made in the 1980s. While the effects are disappointingly-executed at times and Natali goes for some tired RINGU-type ghost action in the finale, HAUNTER succeeds on style and atmosphere and some solid acting all around, particularly Breslin and McHattie. It's not quite THE HAUNTING or THE LEGEND OF HELL HOUSE, but for the most part, it's a nicely low-key and pleasantly surprising little throwback horror film that just fell through the cracks and deserves to find an audience. (Unrated, 97 mins, also available on Netflix Instant)
ENOUGH SAID (US/UK - 2013)
Since her 1996 breakthrough WALKING AND TALKING was released during the height of Miramax's indie heyday, writer/director Nicole Holofcener has been a distinctive voice with smart, insightful movies about women that don't resort to "chick flick" clichés. Her latest, ENOUGH SAID, relies a little more on dumb contrivance than her earlier films, and right down to its title, frequently feels like the kind of pleasant-but-middling effort her one-time mentor Woody Allen (Holofcener was a production assistant on Allen's A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S SEX COMEDY and HANNAH AND HER SISTERS) might crank out between genuinely great films. That's not to say it isn't enjoyable, but were it not for a dumb decision by its main character, there probably wouldn't be a movie. Julia Louis-Dreyfus is excellent as divorced, middle-aged masseuse Eva, stuck in a rut and fearing the empty nest once daughter Ellen (Tracey Fairaway) goes off to college. Dragged to a party by her friend Sarah (Toni Collette), she meets Albert (James Gandolfini), an affable, schlubby sort of guy, and they immediately hit it off. Meanwhile, Eva has a new client in poet Marianne (Holofcener regular Catherine Keener), who does little but trash-talk her ex-husband. Eventually, Eva figures out that Marianne's ex is Albert, and can't stop herself from projecting Marianne's issues back on to him, jeopardizing the relationship (at one point, after an uncomfortable dinner with friends, Albert says "Why do I feel like I just spent the evening with my ex-wife?"). Here's why this whole conceit doesn't work: Marianne is a bitter, pretentious, unlikable bitch, which goes without saying as she's portrayed by Catherine Keener, who, with rare exception, more or less has a lock on this type of character. Eva doesn't seem desperate enough for a friend that she'd latch on to Marianne the way she does, or be so inclined to nitpick to such a level that she'd fatalistically torpedo her relationship with Albert. Yeah, it's a romantic comedy, but real characters in real life--or, at least, characters in earlier Holofcener films, would've resolved this situation in a matter of minutes.
But ENOUGH SAID excels in other areas: Louis-Dreyfus is very good and Eva's parental panic over her baby venturing into the real world is handled in a believable and sympathetic fashion. She's also very funny, especially in a scene late in the film where she's insulted by someone and lets loose with a laugh that displays outrage, dismissal, and hurt all in a matter of seconds, and it's a vintage Louis-Dreyfus moment. And then there's Gandolfini in his penultimate role (his last film, the crime thriller THE DROP, is due out later this year). Released four months after his death, ENOUGH SAID lets the actor show a vulnerable side of himself rarely seen before. You've always heard women say "he just had something about him," but he never really got to play a romantic lead until this and it's a stellar performance. ENOUGH SAID is likable if a little too slight and predictable, but it's a must-see for fans of Louis-Dreyfus, who's really flourished post-SEINFELD (her HBO series VEEP is one of the funniest things on TV), and especially the much-missed Gandolfini. (PG-13, 93 mins)
HOW I LIVE NOW (UK - 2013)
This dumb, drab adaptation of Meg Rosoff's 2004 YA novel about a American teenager's survival in England after the country is leveled by a nuclear attack only made it to 68 screens during its US release. Pick a reason why: is it that it centers on the most abrasive and coarsely unlikable heroine in recent memory? Is it that the target audience is too young to get into R-rated movies? Is it that the central romance in the film is between cousins? Coming off like a TWILIGHT-ized CHILDREN OF MEN and showcasing all the depth of a Taylor Swift song, HOW I LIVE NOW manages to defeat the gifted Saoirse Ronan, who's never turned in a bad performance but can't do much with the bitchy and complaining Daisy, a standard-issue Ugly American spending the summer--against her will, it seems--with some cousins who live in the English countryside. While she churlishly resists any attempts to bond with them until they playfully throw her in a river and goo-goo eyes with the oldest, Eddie (George Mackay), quickly escalates to all-out cousin-fucking, London is nuked, Aunt Penn (Anna Chancellor) disappears, and the military comes through to round up the survivors. The kids--there's also 14-year-old Isaac (Tom Holland, so good in THE IMPOSSIBLE), and nine-year-old Piper (Harley Bird)--are split up, with Daisy and Piper forced to fend for themselves. It's amazing how quickly Daisy goes from spoiled bitch to hard-nosed survivalist almost instantaneously. Even in the context of a fantastical film, it's too much of a stretch and even an actress as good as Ronan can't sell it. There's no suspense, the pace is deadeningly dull, and while it might be aimed at sullen teens, it feels like it's made by them as well, which is quite shocking considering that director Kevin Macdonald (ONE DAY IN SEPTEMBER, TOUCHING THE VOID, THE LAST KING OF SCOTLAND) and co-writer Tony Grisoni (the RED RIDING trilogy) have made very good films before (Macdonald is also the grandson of legendary British filmmaker Emeric Pressburger). A meandering misfire from the start, you can probably live the rest of your life without subjecting yourself to HOW I LIVE NOW. (R, 101 mins)
The directing debut of Oscar-winning PRECIOUS screenwriter Geoffrey Fletcher, VIOLET & DAISY is an oddity that starts as an almost chick-flick version of THE BOONDOCK SAINTS before becoming a stagy character study. It's a little too "cute" at times, only very rarely crossing the line into "quirky." It could almost be a play, and it definitely feels like the kind of movie made by a screenwriter stepping behind the camera for the first time. Violet (Alexis Bledel) and Daisy (Saoirse Ronan) are two teenaged assassins about to start a much-deserved vacation when they get a call about a quick-money hit from their handler Russ (Danny Trejo): rub out a guy who stole some money from their boss. Wanting some time off but needing some extra money to buy matching dresses from the trendy clothing line of teen pop sensation Barbie Sunday (Cody Horn), Violet and Daisy take the assignment. Arriving at the target's apartment only to find he's out, they wait for him but fall asleep on his couch. When the schlubby target (James Gandolfini) arrives home, he covers them with a blanket and gives them cookies and milk when they wake up. The girls unexpectedly bond with the target, who turns out to be a nice guy who's had some shitty luck, and find it difficult to pull the trigger, causing them to re-examine their own friendship and working partnership while the boss sends his top assassin (Marianne Jean-Baptiste) to trail them in case they can't complete the job.
VIOLET & DAISY doesn't always work, and it belongs to that KILLING THEM SOFTLY and THE AMERICAN school of denying audiences the kind of payoff that the set-up seems to ensure (I imagine this would've gotten an "F" from the insipid CinemaScore had it opened wide), but it has its moments amid the inconsistencies. Ronan and Bledel are quite good, and they get a great intro dressed as nuns, mowing down a roomful of mobsters to the tune of Merrilee Rush's version of "Angel of the Morning." Other odd touches include the pair being prone to hopscotch and lollipops, riding a large tricycle to a job, and Daisy playing patty-cake with Russ while talking over their assignment. The joke, of course, is that they're basically little girls in a cold, violent profession, though Violet--played by a well-cast Bledel, who's about a decade older than she looks--hides that she's a bit more hard-edged and worldly and tries to shield that from the naïve and childlike Daisy; Violet is almost like a few-years-older version of Natalie Portman's Matilda from Luc Besson's THE PROFESSIONAL. At times, there's a bit of a SUCKER PUNCH thing going on here as well, though VIOLET & DAISY was shot in 2010, well before that film's release. It's also worth a look for the always-excellent work of the late and already much-missed Gandolfini, who died two weeks after the film's belated, 17-screen theatrical release in June 2013. At just 88 minutes, the film feels a bit hacked down (a pre-OFFICE and MAGIC MIKE Horn is in the credits but is only seen on a magazine cover and a billboard) and hits and misses in equal measure, but the fine performances of the leads make it an interesting curiosity, as does Gandolfini's brief reunion with his SOPRANOS co-star John Ventimiglia. (R, 88 mins)
DEAD IN TOMBSTONE (US - 2013)
With films like DEATH RACE 2, DEATH RACE 3: INFERNO, THE MARINE 2, and THE SCORPION KING 3 to his credit, Dutch director Roel Reine is usually mentioned along with Isaac Florentine and John Hyams as a top name in the world of straight-to-DVD. The surprisingly entertaining DEATH RACE 3, in particular, demonstrated that Reine--who frequently functions as his own cinematographer and camera operator--was adept at making low-budget action films look like big-screen contenders. The idea of Reine helming a supernatural western is full of potential, but DEAD IN TOMBSTONE is a disappointment, primarily because he falls into the trap of shaky-cam action sequences that reduce everything to jittery, headache-inducing incoherence. Reine's camera never stops moving and swirling, and he also gets a little too distracted with directorial wankery, usually in the form of bizarre POV shots that bring to mind what a spaghetti western might look like if Sergio Leone had access to a Skycam.
The outlaw Blackwater Gang, led by Guerrero de la Cruz (Danny Trejo) and his half-brother Red Cavanaugh (Anthony Michael Hall), arrives in the small mining town of Edendale to steal some gold from a bank vault. They successfully steal the gold, but the psychotic Red kills the sheriff (Daniel Lapaine) and goads the rest of the gang into killing Guerrero. Trapped in a Purgatory that looks like a leftover SILENT HILL set, Guerrero makes a deal with the Devil--who appears in the form of a philosophical blacksmith (Mickey Rourke)--to save his soul in exchange for the six remaining members of the Blackwater Gang. A year later, Guerrero pulls a HIGH PLAINS DRIFTER and shows up in Edendale--now taken over by the power-mad Red and renamed Tombstone--to exact his revenge. There's no reason that this shouldn't be a fun B-movie, but Reine can't restrain himself and just shoot a sequence in a straightforward fashion. He wants to go for a classic Sam Raimi feel with a contemporary, video-game aesthetic--Reine's a talented genre director but he's not Raimi and the results are simply eye-glazingly dull. If he'd just buckled down and made a normal-looking western, he might've had a minor cult movie on his hands instead of the forgettable DTV throwaway it turned out to be. Trejo is perfectly cast, Hall has some fun playing a dastardly villain, and Dina Meyer is good as the sheriff's vengeance-obsessed widow. Rourke, presumably here because he torched the last remaining bridge built after his short-lived WRESTLER renaissance by walking off of SEVEN PSYCHOPATHS and trash-talking its director, Martin McDonagh (Woody Harrelson replaced him), looks even worse here than he did in JAVA HEAT. Reine directed the 2008 Steven Seagal dud PISTOL WHIPPED and seems to employ some classic Seagal tactics here as he has a bloated Rourke a) wearing a big duster in a hapless attempt to conceal his gut, and b) dubbed by someone else in most of his scenes. There seems to be no rhyme or reason as to why Rourke--who has a distinct sound--has an obviously different voice on and off throughout. Perhaps a plot point was changed and this was the best they could do rather than deal with him coming back to record some new dialogue? DEAD IN TOMBSTONE makes impressive use of some unlikely locations in Romania, utilizing some still-standing COLD MOUNTAIN sets that have been seen in several westerns since (the History Channel miniseries HATFIELDS & MCCOYS was also shot in Romania), but when it's all said and done, it's unfortunately a missed opportunity. Available in both R-rated and unrated versions, the R-rated running 99:59 and the unrated 99:58. What the hell is that all about? (R/Unrated, both 100 mins)
Several SOPRANOS alumni, including creator David Chase, reunited for this semi-autobiographical period piece about one of countless 1960s rock bands that didn't make it. Chase, who wrote and directed, seems to approach his first feature film as if it's an entire season of an HBO show whittled down to two hours. The story isn't exactly cohesive and it's probably not meant to be. It makes sure to mention all the expected '60s touchstones--opening with JFK's assassination, then the Beatles on Ed Sullivan, Vietnam, Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., civil rights, free love, LSD, Bob Dylan, The Byrds, Jimi Hendrix, Bobby Kennedy--as we watch a small-time Jersey band build a following, squabble, and try to audition for a record label all while dealing with life in a tumultuous decade. The focus is on drummer Douglas (John Magaro) who's invited into a local cover band by guitarist/singer Eugene (Jack Huston). Douglas, Eugene, and Wells (Will Brill) form the core of the unnamed band and tensions flare when 4/5 of the band thinks that Douglas is a better singer and Eugene should just play guitar. Eugene is also reluctant to write original songs and would prefer to play covers. Meanwhile, Douglas falls in love with rich girl Grace (Bella Heathcote) and drops out of college, much to the disgust of his bitter, blue collar father (James Gandolfini) who doesn't approve of his shaggy hair and his clothes that make him look like he "just got off the boat." This formula repeats for the entire film: the band plays, squabbles, pulls it together, Douglas and Grace make big plans about music and film projects, Eugene acts like a jealous dick, and Douglas goes home for the holidays and fights with his dad.
Magaro is very good, and Chase does a great job with period detail, but his construction of the film is frustrating. The narrative jumps all over the place, sometimes skipping months and years at a time (indicated by how increasingly big Douglas' hair gets), and established subplots get cast aside with an almost willful disregard. We never really get to know the large cast of characters (I don't even recall hearing the names of the other two guys in the band), and I don't know why we spend so much time dealing with Grace's troubled older sister (Dominique McElligott). And if you hated the last scene of THE SOPRANOS' final episode, then wait until you see what Chase does here. His fondness for the era is undeniable (I got a big laugh out of Grace dragging Douglas to see Antonioni's BLOW-UP, where he complains "What kind of movie is this? Nothing happens!"), but in the end, it misses the mark and has surprisingly little to say. Produced by Steven Van Zandt, who also served as music supervisor. The song selection is probably the film's strongest attribute. (R, 112 mins)
THE DETAILS (US - 2012)
THE DETAILS is one of those twisty nightmare comedies where one single infraction by an everyman protagonist spirals into out-of-control doom. It's the kind of dark comedy that wants to be FARGO-era Coen Bros., but its frequent moments of excellence never really coalesce into anything all that special by the pat, predictable conclusion. Mild-mannered, nice-guy Seattle doctor Tobey Maguire, who's initially so benignly unthreatening that he spells out his curse words, decides to add a room on to his house without obtaining a city permit, and through an individually plausible but collectively absurd set of circumstances, sees his entire life fall to pieces. He and wife Elizabeth Banks haven't had sex in six months, but they generally get along, and he spends his spare time jerking off to internet porn and battling raccoons who keep digging up his lawn in the wee hours. After an argument, his frustrations boil over and he sleeps with his married med school friend Kerry Washington, who confesses the indiscretion to her husband Ray Liotta, who then threatens to tell Banks unless Maguire pays him $100,000. Meanwhile, Maguire has to contend with crazy cat-lady neighbor Laura Linney after her cat dies ingesting some poison left out for the raccoons. Before Maguire realizes what's going on, he and Linney have a fast and frenzied sexual encounter in her living room and she ends up pregnant. The only good thing going on in Maguire's life is his friendship with Dennis Haysbert, an almost-basketball pro who fell on hard times and needs a kidney transplant. But Maguire's chaotic existence even spills over into Haysbert's, who decides to help his new friend in the worst way possible.
Written and directed by Jacob Aaron Estes, who's been MIA since his acclaimed 2004 debut MEAN CREEK, THE DETAILS has a lot of outstanding moments and killer supporting performances, but it turns into a case where the parts are greater than the whole. Shot in 2009, it's a better film than three years on the shelf and a 73-screen release would lead you to believe. Maguire is good, but it's Linney, Haysbert, and Liotta who steal the film. Liotta, in particular, has an amazing scene where he confronts Maguire on a bridge that features some of the best and most profane acting of his career. And his comedic timing and delivery of bizarrely funny dialogue is spot-on ("I taught you how to make pesto and you sleep with my wife?!"). Linney throws herself into her role, turning in a fearless performance as a character that a more vain actress wouldn't even consider portraying (straddling Maguire, she shrieks "I can feel you getting bigger!"). It's an odd little film that never quite finds the tone it's looking for, careening from near-slapstick with the raccoon business to some really dark, bleak turns in the closing act. Flawed and inconsistent and probably hard to market, but worth a look. (R, 101 mins)
PERCENTAGE (US - 2013)
Two weeks after the unwatchable HOUSE OF BODIES, Netflix drops another Queen Latifah-produced bomb as a streaming exclusive...no theatrical release, no trailer, no publicity, nothing. Like BODIES, the gangsta thriller PERCENTAGE was directed by the astonishingly inept Alex Merkin, who's obviously gunning to be the Albert Pyun of his generation. As terrible and as dated as it is (playing a lot like one of those countless DTV, post-I'M 'BOUT IT Master P joints from the late '90s), PERCENTAGE is at least a technical improvement over BODIES and, if nothing else, almost looks like a real movie instead of cobbled-together cell phone footage. But the praise ends there as we follow unscrupulous NYC thug Ant (rapper Cam'ron, who also "co-wrote" the "script") and his buddy Carter (Omar Gooding, Cuba Jr's brother) fleeing a shootout with the Russian mob and heading to Miami to lay low. Instead, they team up with Carter's cousin Flaco (Antwon Tanner) on a half-assed credit card scam that can't possibly be as easy to pull off in real life as the film presents it. They live large, buying expensive watches, lighting blunts with Benjamins and hangin' at the club, all until Miami crime boss Mama Cash (Macy Gray) and her cowboy enforcer Porter (Ving Rhames) want their cut. The eastern European mob also figures, as per the rules of straight-to-DVD dogshit. Merkin actually tries to go for some style here by clumsily ripping off John Woo (birds!) and Steven Soderbergh (when Ant meets Malinda Williams' Cass at the club, their conversation is intercut with footage of them in bed later on, much like George Clooney and Jennifer Lopez in the hotel bar in OUT OF SIGHT), and there's repeat invocations of "The world is yours" from both versions of SCARFACE. But proving he's seen good movies by better directors doesn't give Merkin any credibility, especially in a gaffe-filled montage with Ant's narration ("The terminals was hacked...to place a trace on each card swiped") repeated over two consecutive scenes. Really? Nobody noticed that? Gray is awful and Rhames is phoning it in (though at 66:30, watch what appears to be his impromptu impression of Bela Lugosi in FRANKENSTEIN MEETS THE WOLF MAN), and Queen Latifah really should be using her celebrity and her name on more worthwhile projects. What can you say about a movie that's so bad that it's even beneath Omar Gooding? (Unrated, 83 mins, currently available only on Netflix streaming)
Directed by Kathryn Bigelow. Written by Mark Boal. Cast: Jessica Chastain, Jason Clarke, Joel Edgerton, Jennifer Ehle, James Gandolfini, Edgar Ramirez, Mark Strong, Kyle Chandler, Harold Perrineau, Stephen Dillane, Chris Pratt, Scott Adkins, Reda Kateb, Fares Fares, Mark Duplass, Frank Grillo, Nash Edgerton. (R, 157 mins)
Factoring out the controversy and whatever one chooses to be outraged about, director Kathryn Bigelow (NEAR DARK, POINT BREAK, STRANGE DAYS) and screenwriter Mark Boal reunite following the Oscar-winning THE HURT LOCKER to fashion what will likely be cinema's defining chronicle of the hunt for Osama Bin Laden. The film has been criticized for a pro-torture stance, but I don't see it taking that viewpoint as much as it acknowledges that yes, torture took place. It doesn't sugarcoat it or pretend it didn't exist because then it would be sanitizing what its purporting to depict. The film doesn't come down on one side or the other, and my interpretation of it is that it's presented and the audience can decide for itself to what extent it glorifies or condemns it. Anyone can find any meaning in anything if they're looking for it, and if it's not there and they want it to be, then they'll simply invent it. The way the film plays out, it's detective and surveillance work that are the primary keys in finding Bin Laden (or, "UBL" as the film calls him). "Enhanced interrogation" took place and the closest we get to a commentary on the topic is CIA black ops officer Dan (Jason Clarke) getting burned out on his current job and requesting a transfer back to Washington, DC, giving these telling words of advice to colleague Maya (Jessica Chastain): "Watch yourself...you don't wanna be the last one holding a dog collar when oversight comes down on this place." That isn't the film "condoning" it as much as it's accurately depicting what was, at the time, an accepted practice, carried out by people following orders. Bigelow and Boal don't come out and say "This is bad," because it's not their job. They're telling the story and telling it as close to the way it went down as they can and time and dramatic license will allow. The people complaining one way or the other are the ones who want their movies to do their thinking for them. And this is a film that runs nearly two hours and 40 minutes, with the torture confined to the first 30 minutes, so the fixation reeks of manufactured outrage. A film like this is a powderkeg and people on both sides of the political spectrum are bound to be touchy about something. There's no agenda here, and to continue harping on it detracts people from experiencing a thoroughly gripping thriller. There's much here in the way or moral and ethical complexity. We know how it ends, but it's not meant to be a stand-up-and-cheer ending. There's no Lee Greenwood over the closing credits here, people.
The film focuses on CIA officer Maya and her obsessive pursuit of UBL from 2003 until the raid on the compound in Abbottabad in 2011. For nearly a decade, she works day and night, fighting colleagues and Washington bureaucrats who have more or less written off UBL and are focusing on other terrorist operations. In sticking with the clinical, procedural presentation (the film is a direct relative of similarly-styled films like ALL THE PRESIDENT'S MEN and the more recent ZODIAC and CARLOS, which shares a star with this film's Edgar Ramirez), Maya remains an enigmatic figure throughout. We learn nothing about her other than she was recruited out of high school and seems to have no friends or close contacts. Bigelow and Boal try to give her some emotional qualities and allow the audience to connect with her through one tragic event midway through the film that tries to, for lack of a better word, personalize her quest for UBL and allow the audience to connect with her, but it's not really necessary, especially since Maya becomes a background character for a good chunk of the last act when the compound is raided.
Chastain, an actress who's as relentlessly devoted to her career as the character she's playing (this is her 12th film since the beginning of 2011), succeeds at making us care about a character who, by design, isn't very well-defined. She captures the intensity, the dedication, the obsession (the scene where she shouts down feet-dragging CIA Islamabad Station Chief Kyle Chandler probably secured her Oscar nomination), and the loneliness of someone in this job. The film only falters slightly when it tries to force a sense of "humanity" on her. For example, we never really convincingly see the friendship develop between Maya and fellow CIA officer Jessica (Jennifer Ehle), which doesn't really make the turn of events that transpires with Jessica have much in the way of a dramatic impact on Maya herself. With little development, the two go from being curt, stand-offish colleagues to texting BFFs. Of course, there's a time element involved and one scene might take place 18 months after the one that preceded it, but it's when the film tries to make the characters, in particular Maya, more accessible and more appealing is when it gets briefly sidetracked to a small extent.
But those are minor gripes. For the most part, this is an intense and expertly-crafted look at one of the biggest manhunts in US history, filled with nail-biting suspense (the pursuit of UBL's chief courier and the 2008 bombing of the Islamabad Marriott are standouts) and globe-trotting locations, and the final raid on UBL's hiding place in a compound in a middle-class Abbottabad neighborhood is one of the great set pieces in one of the most powerful films of 2012.
Written and directed by Andrew Dominik. Cast: Brad Pitt, Richard Jenkins, James Gandolfini, Ray Liotta, Scoot McNairy, Ben Mendelsohn, Sam Shepard, Vincent Curatola, Max Casella, Trevor Long, Slaine. (R, 97 mins)
I wasn't able to see KILLING THEM SOFTLY until nearly a week after it opened to critical acclaim and audience rage, so it's impossible to discuss the film without conducting a post-mortem of it. Writer/director Andrew Dominik's follow-up to his critically-lauded but studio-abandoned THE ASSASSINATION OF JESSE JAMES BY THE COWARD ROBERT FORD bowed to utterly toxic audience reaction during its opening weekend and functions as one of the year's more alarming examples of a massive critic/audience disconnect. It's not uncommon or unexpected for an ad campaign to intentionally misdirect an audience in order to hide a plot twist, but there's plenty of fairly recent examples of studios very deceptively and intentionally selling an arthouse-type film as something it isn't because they know it's not mainstream or multiplex-friendly. Very often, films like this get tiny theatrical releases in one or two cities before being dumped on DVD, but sometimes, there's maybe a big name involved and it can have a huge opening weekend before the negative buzz circulates. 20th Century Fox opening Steven Soderbergh's 2002 remake of SOLARIS nationwide on Thanksgiving weekend to rope in the George Clooney/OCEAN'S ELEVEN crowd stands as a particularly egregiously ballsy example. Lionsgate sold William Friedkin's BUG as a horror film, sucking people in with "From the director of THE EXORCIST." Not a lie, but not really preparing audiences for an adaptation of a stage play where Ashley Judd freaks out in a motel room for two hours. Clooney had this happen again with 2010's THE AMERICAN, which Focus opened nationwide and sold as an action-packed suspense thriller when in fact it's an austere, methodical, glacially slow-paced character study filled with long stretches of silence. I saw THE AMERICAN with an audience where the impatience and discontent grew from dramatic sighs midway through to a palpable fury by the end, with one woman shouting "Hang the director!" as the closing credits rolled. Through no fault of the films themselves, there's certainly an argument to be made for their marketing being examples of blatant audience contempt. It's not like the days of old when the inaccurate depiction of horror and exploitation films was largely a standard practice. No, the studios behind SOLARIS and THE AMERICAN cynically took advantage of Clooney's celebrity to sell small, artsy, limited-appeal films to an unsuspecting commercial audience, when they shouldn't have been opening wide in the first place (it's worth noting that Clooney produced THE AMERICAN but refused to do any publicity for it--was he protesting the marketing?). Audiences seemed to be a lot more open to these kinds of challenging films in decades past, but are moviegoers dumber today? Yeah, probably, though it might not be that simple. They're certainly less tolerant when faced with a film that goes against their expectations. I can't imagine a sign at a movie theater entrance in 1975 like the hand-written one I was confronted with when I went to see PUNCH DRUNK LOVE in 2002 ("PUNCH DRUNK LOVE is not a typical Adam Sandler comedy--refunds will not be given due to the content of the film"). But film snobs and cineastes are just as knee-jerk reactionary and misguided when they say things like "Sorry if this movie made you think!" or "Just go see a Michael Bay movie instead." It's hard to disagree with someone who's peeved about dropping $50 on tickets and concessions for themselves and their significant other and the George Clooney action thriller they were sold turns out to be a somber Jean-Pierre Melville homage. Other than extreme levels of multiplex audience scorn, what do films like SOLARIS, BUG, and THE AMERICAN have in common? They're good once one considers them without the mainstream expectations.
KILLING THEM SOFTLY didn't even get a chance to rake in some box office before the negative word-of-mouth spread like a virus. Having said that, and after seeing it, if one doesn't follow movie news and decides to see it based solely on the marketing, I don't find the trailer for KILLING THEM SOFTLY to be all that deceptive, though I'll concede it's more of an arthouse film that probably shouldn't have opened wide "in theaters everywhere." The plot is essentially what's laid out in the trailer. What audiences seemed to revolt against was the fact that it's largely character-driven and very dialogue-heavy. If a trailer has blatantly lied to a prospective audience, that audience is justified in their displeasure, but the intense mainstream hatred for KILLING THEM SOFTLY? That's on the audience. The trailer didn't sell something that wasn't there. People saw Brad Pitt and guns, and jumped to their own conclusions. Know what you're going to see. Know that it's from the guy who made THE ASSASSINATION OF JESSE JAMES BY THE COWARD ROBERT FORD. Know that it's based on a 1970s novel by a guy who specialized in chronicling the blue-collar, working-stiff aspect of the mob. This isn't Brad Pitt's SCARFACE.
KILLING THEM SOFTLY is based on George V. Higgins' 1974 novel Cogan's Trade. Higgins also wrote the 1970 novel The Friends of Eddie Coyle, which was turned into a 1973 box-office flop with Robert Mitchum and Peter Boyle that's now rightfully considered one of the great mob movies. Both books and their subsequent film adaptations focus on the seedy, unglamourous, average Joe, nickel-and-dime side of gangster life. Dominik updates Higgins' work to include a politically-charged undercurrent of the 2008 election, with frequent TV shots and talk radio clips of a campaigning Barack Obama and soon-to-be-outgoing President George W. Bush discussing the Wall Street bailout. Dominik uses these elements and a change in setting from Boston to New Orleans to illustrate that even the mob is susceptible to economic and recession woes, but it's a point that he belabors a bit too heavy-handedly as the film proceeds, though it does wrap up with a declaration by Pitt's character that's maybe my favorite movie line of 2012.
The film begins with low-level New Orleans mobster Johnny "The Squirrel" Amato (Vincent Curatola, best known as Johnny Sack on THE SOPRANOS) hatching a plan from the dingy office of his dry-cleaning business: he's persuaded dim, skeezy flunky Frankie (Scoot McNairy) and his Australian junkie buddy Russell (Ben Mendelsohn) to knock over an illegal card game run by numbers guy Markie Trattman (Ray Liotta). Frankie balks because he knows such an act would put a hit out on them, but Trattman infamously staged a robbery of one of his own card games in the past and was granted a pass for it. If it happens a second time, the bosses would naturally assume he stupidly tried it again and wouldn't be as forgiving. Frankie and Russell pull off the job, and of course, Markie looks guilty until Russell starts bragging about it and it gets back to mob enforcer Dillon (Sam Shepard). Dillon dispatches hit man Jackie Cogan (Pitt) to meet with a mysterious go-between known as The Driver (Richard Jenkins) to work out a plan to whack Frankie, Russell, The Squirrel, and, at Jackie's insistence, Markie, now deemed a business liability even though he wasn't part of the second heist. Jackie insists on a second man to assist, so New York Mickey (James Gandolfini) is brought in. Mickey, once a feared and respected figure, is depressed over his marital troubles and now an alcoholic, sex-addicted shell of what he once was, even agreeing to a lower fee because times are tough and he needs the money.
From the start, Dominik lets the story unfold naturally and takes his time establishing the characters. Pitt doesn't even appear until nearly 30 minutes in. Outstanding performances all around, right down to the smaller roles, though Shepard's really feels cut down, as Dillon is mentioned frequently but actually on screen for less than a minute (and incidentally, Higgins' novels took place in the same universe, and not having read them, I'm assuming that Shepard's Dillon and Peter Boyle's Dillon in THE FRIENDS OF EDDIE COYLE were likely the same character in the books). Gandolfini only has two or three scenes, but they're long scenes and he's able to make a vivid impression of what at times seems like Tony Soprano if he hit rock bottom. Liotta, who busts out his signature laugh at one point, manages to evoke genuine sympathy when the hapless Markie is subjected to one of cinema's most brutal, stomach-turning beatings. These characters don't talk or behave like Tarantino-esque pop-culture gangsters, but the real, gritty deal. The film features some of the harshest and most spectacularly foul language you'll hear in a movie this year, even when they aren't dropping a near-record number of F-bombs (at one point, Mickey berates a tip-demanding hooker with "You want a tip? Put the condom on with your mouth and stop acting like your anus is a national monument"). Other than the frequent use of Obama and Bush soundbites, KILLING THEM SOFTLY looks and feels like it could've been made in 1977. From the fashions to the cars to their attitudes, these aging wiseguys have never moved beyond their glory days, and the realization seems to be hitting them during the hard times of the recession with the increased corporatization, red tape, penny-pinching, and micro-managing inherent in their world. As evidenced by his final, seething monologue, Jackie is the only one who seems to get it.
Like THE ASSASSINATION OF JESSE JAMES BY THE COWARD ROBERT FORD (which is in my top five favorite films of the last decade), KILLING THEM SOFTLY is not a commercial endeavor, and it will likely be some time before it can be appreciated and valued away from the standards and expectations of a mainstream multiplex movie audience. It's a terrific film, smartly written, richly detailed, and not at all deserving of the hatred being leveled at it by average moviegoers. Its day will come and maybe for those who disliked it so intensely, something will draw them back to give it a second chance and without the baggage of its box office failure and the "F" grade from the inane Cinemascore, perhaps then it will click. Until then, let the devoted cult following begin.
