Directed by Gary Fleder. Written by Sylvester Stallone. Cast: Jason Statham, James Franco, Winona Ryder, Kate Bosworth, Izabela Vidovic, Frank Grillo, Clancy Brown, Rachelle Lefevre, Omar Benson Miller, Chuck Zito, Pruitt Taylor Vince, Marcus Hester, Lance E. Nichols. (R, 100 mins)
Based on a 2006 novel by Chuck Logan, HOMEFRONT was scripted by Sylvester Stallone, who intended to star before deciding he was too old for the lead and handed the project over to his fellow Expendable Jason Statham. Stallone's script takes some liberties with Logan's novel, one of a series of thrillers featuring former Minnesota cop Phil Broker. In the book, Broker, his wife, and daughter move to rural Minnesota as Broker tangles with local meth cookers. In the movie, Broker (Statham) is a widower who moves with his ten-year-old daughter Maddy (Izabela Vidovic) to rural Louisiana two years after leading an undercover bust that resulted in the death of the son of biker kingpin Danny T (Chuck Zito). When Maddy decks a bully at recess, it sets off a chain reaction of violence and revenge. The bully's mother is white-trash tweaker Cassie Klum (Kate Bosworth), who goads her spineless husband Jimmy (Marcus Hester) into a fight with Broker, who easily kicks Jimmy's ass. Broker approaches Jimmy at his job and apologizes and the two men agree to let it go, but Cassie isn't satisfied and approaches her older brother and local meth lord Gator Bodine (James Franco). When Broker easily handles a pair of Gator's stooges, Gator pops into the Broker home and snoops around, stealing Maddy's cat, a stuffed animal, and some Danny T files in Broker's basement. Needing a powerful organization like Danny T's MC to help his meth distribution network, Gator enlists the aid of biker groupie and meth whore Sheryl (Winona Ryder) to bring in the incarcerated Danny T's crew, headed by the psychotic Cyrus (Frank Grillo), to take care of Broker and set up a sweet deal for himself in the process. Obviously, things don't go according to plan for Gator or the bikers.
Looking a bit like what might happen if Statham was dropped into the middle of WINTER'S BONE by way of STRAW DOGS, HOMEFRONT is one of the action star's stronger efforts, and he's helped by an unusual supporting cast and some unexpected turns in the script. I liked the way that the role of the antagonist kept shifting throughout the film: first, it's Cassie, and when she runs to Gator after Broker kicks her husband's ass, Gator has other things to do and isn't really interested in her Broker issues but does it because he's her brother. When Broker reaches a tentative truce with Cassie and her husband, it's too late to stop Gator, who now knows who Broker is and tries to use him to set up his deal with the bikers. When crazed Cyrus enters the story about an hour in, he's so obsessed with vengeance that even Gator decides to keep his distance from what's about to go down. For a few minutes, even Sheryl takes center stage as the villain when she kidnaps Maddy. Some of the character arcs--Cassie, especially--aren't the most plausible and organic, but there's enough good things in Stallone's script to help you overlook some of its dumber elements: maybe Broker should've found a better storage place for stacks of Bankers Boxes filled with top-secret DEA files than his basement. More importantly, if he wants to avoid the vengeful biker gang that's vowed revenge for his being a narc, perhaps Phil Broker should be hiding under a more stealthy name than "Phil Broker."
Other than young Vidovic, who seems like a natural and works very well with Statham, nobody really stretches their talents here, though the idea of Franco as the bad guy in a Jason Statham action movie works better than it sounds. Workaholic Franco (who has 12 IMDb credits for 2013 and ten for 2014) seems like an actor who will try every kind of movie once, and he handles the stock bad guy role well. There was a time when the idea of Ryder taking a supporting role in a macho action flick would've seemed unthinkable. Her career may not be where it once was, but she brings some credibility to the proceedings, and it's a nice to see her and Franco working together in a real movie after their LETTER triumph from last year. A frighteningly thin Bosworth doesn't have a lot to do after the initial plot set-up, but she really nails the bad-tempered, chip-on-her-shoulder, pissed-off-about-everything nature of her character. Director Gary Fleder (THINGS TO DO IN DENVER WHEN YOU'RE DEAD, KISS THE GIRLS, DON'T SAY A WORD, RUNAWAY JURY) isn't really an "action" guy but he's in journeyman mode here, and gets the job done for the most part, except for a couple of unfortunate instances of shaky-cam and one dubious CGI car roll courtesy of executive producer Avi Lerner's usual Bulgarian clown crew at Worldwide FX.
It's hard for any 1970s set mob thriller to not swing from Martin Scorsese's nutsack, and while THE ICEMAN, based on the true story of career hit man Richard Kuklinski, is predictably episodic and formulaic as far as these things go, it stands out from the crowd thanks to some strong performances and some unusually diligent attention to period detail. Most of today's films that are set in NYC of 40 years ago have a pronounced CGI artifice to them that's distracting to the point of looking cartoonish. While those techniques are used here, it's obvious that director Ariel Vroman and the production design team made the extra effort to make it look as convincing as possible. Michael Shannon, one of modern cinema's great character actors, stars as Kuklinski who, as the film opens in 1964, is a low-level flunky dubbing movies for the porn operation of powerful Jersey mobster Roy Demeo (Ray Liotta). Kuklinski works his way up to hit man after Demeo shuts down the porn operation, and after he lets a witness go (he doesn't kill women or children), Demeo takes Kuklinski out of commission and refuses to give him any work. Kuklinski, whose ruthlessness at his job is at odds with his being a devoted husband to Deborah (Winona Ryder) and loving father to their two daughters, ends up working with freelance killer Mr. Freezy (Chris Evans), so-called for his driving an ice-cream truck and storing bodies for up to two years before thawing them out and chopping them into pieces.
Taking place from 1964 to 1986 (though Vroman stops paying much attention to the specifics of the years), THE ICEMAN isn't near Scorsese's league as far as mob thrillers go, and Liotta's played this character too many times to really do much with it, but Shannon is outstanding and Ryder manages to create a well-rounded character out of the typically clichéd "mob wife who doesn't seem to notice where the money comes from." As with most releases from Cannon cover band Millennium, THE ICEMAN got buried and didn't see much of a release (when will actors realize that signing with Avi Lerner means your movie won't get seen?), and it doesn't really break new ground as far as these things go (does every 1970s-set movie have to include ELO's "Livin' Thing" and a disco sequence with Blondie's "Heart of Glass"?), but it's worth seeing, especially for Shannon fans. Also with James Franco (who shows up for one scene before getting killed), David Schwimmer with a ponytail and a porn stache, Robert Davi, John Ventimiglia, and Stephen Dorff, buried in the credits for one scene as Kuklinski's brother. (R, 105 mins)
EMPIRE STATE (US - 2013)
Having directed exactly one good film (2009's FIGHTING), it was only a matter of time before Dito Montiel ended up in the Emmett-Furla Films/50 Cent universe. Fiddy's name isn't on EMPIRE STATE, but his Cheetah Vision co-produced it, and in typical fashion, it played in a handful of theaters the weekend before its DVD/Blu-ray dumping. It's slightly better than Montiel's last film, the dreadful THE SON OF NO ONE. Based on a true story, EMPIRE STATE deals with the 1982 robbery of NYC armored car depository. Unlike THE ICEMAN, the period detail in EMPIRE STATE is sloppy as hell, with subpar greenscreening and fashions that look more 1970s than early '80s. Following a bunch of lowlifes in a Greek neighborhood in the Bronx, the film focuses on Chris Potamitis (Liam Hemsworth), who can't get a job with the NYPD after a pot bust at a Black Sabbath concert several years earlier. He settles for an armored car gig, and ends up being the night watchman at the depository. The business is riddled with corruption and apathy, which makes it easy for him to plan out a robbery. Things spiral out of control when his buddy Eddie (Michael Angarano) can't keep his mouth shut and before long, the mob and the cops are involved. Much of the film is a typical Montiel "slice of life" piece, but everything is so mired in clichés that it's hard to care. The storyline is utterly confusing, Montiel gives Angarano entirely too much space to atrociously overact, though nothing can prepare you for the egregious miscasting of Dwayne Johnson as the lead detective investigating the robbery. The Rock only has a few scenes and it looks like he shot them while in town to plug another movie. He looks like a time traveler from 2013, with no effort made to make him blend into the surroundings. Johnson has proven himself to be a capable actor, but it just looks like Montiel has no idea what to do with him here. Second-billed Emma Roberts has even less to do as a potential love interest for Chris, but it feels like most of her work was left on the cutting room floor. A bland, boring misfire, notable only for getting Paul Ben-Victor and Chris Diamantopoulos--both actors who have played Stooge Moe Howard--onscreen together. (R, 94 mins)
Writer/director Pascal Laugier made a name for himself with 2008's savage horror film MARTYRS. His follow-up film THE TALL MAN (no connection to Don Coscarelli's PHANTASM films) goes in a different direction stylistically, with almost no gore and with the focus being more on psychological horror. In a lot of ways, it feels like a throwback that reminded me of all those great 1970s made-for-TV horror movies (when's the last time you saw quicksand in a movie?). THE TALL MAN has a lot of ambition and tries to cover a lot of ground, and while, like MARTYRS, it's a provocative, imaginative, and sometimes daring film, it doesn't quite hang together despite a lot of positive ingredients. It doesn't always work, but it's an admirable effort that really tries to do something different, and succeeds a bit more than it stumbles. In a surprisingly strong performance, Jessica Biel is a widowed mom and doctor in the poverty-stricken former mining town of Cold Rock, outside of Seattle. The mine closed years ago and the town is a wreck, with abandoned houses and wild dogs roaming the streets. The only thing going on in Cold Rock is a traumatic string of child abductions by a figure known locally as The Tall Man. The Tall Man apparently lives in the forest, and local mute teen Jodelle Ferland (the little girl from SILENT HILL back in 2006) claims to have seen him. Cold Rock sheriff William B. Davis (THE X-FILES' Cigarette-Smoking Man!) mainly hangs out at the greasy spoon being useless while big-city detective Stephen McHattie investigates. Sure enough, Biel is awakened one night and witnesses her young son being abducted by The Tall Man, but that's only the beginning of the story.
Laugier's structuring is unpredictable in that the film's primary twist happens unusually early on, and the rest of it deals less with the What's than with the Why's and How's. Laugier very effectively plays his cards close to the vest, relying on subtlety and atmosphere, with some really nicely-done bits of editing, cinematography, and aerial and tracking shots. The problems arise when we're expected to swallow far too many implausibilities and inconsistencies, chief among them being how 18 children can go missing in a town this small and unpopulated with no one aware of what's really going on. The ultimate reveal comes not via bombastic surprise ending, but is rather low-key, contemplative, and doesn't provide any easy answers ("Right? Right? Right?"). Biel shows some serious chops here, but there's admittedly not much of a mainstream audience for a film like THE TALL MAN, especially for Laugier fans expecting a blood-and-torture-filled MARTYRS retread. It's a slow and methodical little film with some unfortunate plot holes and logic gaps and it maybe could've used another script polish and maybe some tightening, but it's also unusually thoughtful, restrained, and serious for a horror film in 2012. (R, 106 mins, also streaming on Netflix)
THE LETTER (US - 2012)
Remember when Lionsgate tried to sell William Friedkin's BUG as a mainstream horror movie? They must be employing the same crew of bullshit artists in their marketing department, as their artwork ("She thought she saw a devil") and trailer for THE LETTER constitute 2012's most deliberately and willfully misleading ad campaign. They're selling it as a suspense thriller with horror elements when in fact it's unwatchable film-school drivel trying to pass itself off as artsy and serious. NYC writer Martine (Winona Ryder) is directing what looks to be the worst play ever staged and her life begins to unravel with the arrival of co-star Tyrone (James Franco), a manipulative, perpetually-smirking dick whose demeanor rubs everyone the wrong way. Martine's relationship with boyfriend/co-star Raymond (Josh Hamilton) gets increasingly rocky as she constantly revises the script and the lines between fiction and reality blur and blah blah blah. Lots of banal, stream of consciousness, freeform narration from Ryder as her character may or may not be in the midst of a schizophrenic episode and she may or may not be involved a hit and run accident involving a journalist (Dagmara Dominczyk). Written and directed by Jay Anania, Franco's NYU film professor who previously directed the actor in 2010's instantly obscure SHADOWS AND LIES. Somewhat reminiscent of Abel Ferrara's DANGEROUS GAME (1993), THE LETTER is a 90-minute Jay Anania home movie, probably made possible by the director's friendship with a famous, Oscar-nominated student. It's amateurishly-shot and cheap-looking, almost like it's a class project where the assignment is to re-imagine BLACK SWAN as if directed by Henry Jaglom, and it's on roughly the same entertainment level as being waterboarded. Possibly the worst film of 2012. Look at this clip. MUST LOVE JAWS is a more honest trailer than this. (R, 94 mins)
APARTMENT 143 (Spain/France - 2012)
Written and produced by BURIED director Rodrigo Cortes, APARTMENT 143 (the original Spanish title EMERGO still remains on the film itself) attempts to fuse together all of the found footage films of the last few years, but it's done POV style so we see it as it happens. Heavily indebted to PARANORMAL ACTIVITY, the film has a team of parapsychologists led by Michael O'Keefe investigating supernatural happenings in one unit of a dilapidated apartment building in downtown Los Angeles. They've been hired by widower Kai Lennox, who lives with his angry teenage daughter Gia Mantegna (Joe's daughter, and she looks just like him) and four-year-old son Damian Roman, to get to the bottom of strange happenings that have followed them from their previous residence, and it all started when his wife died. Cortes can't seem to settle on what exactly is going on here, so he just rips off everything before skidding to a thoroughly unsatisfying conclusion. O'Keefe's insistence that hauntings and ghosts aren't real and there's no such thing as supernatural events and poltergeists doesn't really gel with the fact that they all clearly see the mother's ghost appear, but promptly forget about it as mandated by the made-up-as-it-goes-along script. And even after Mantegna becomes visibly possessed and starts speaking in her mother's voice and doing a by-the-numbers EXORCIST impression, O'Keefe still stupidly writes it off as "early onset schizophrenia," with the possibility that it's a manifestation of buried memories of child molestation. Rooms shake, winds howl, people are hurled across the room, laptop files erase themselves, motion sensors activate, pictures turn themselves upside down, tea kettles move themselves off the stove, and Mantegna levitates, and it's all just hormones and pent-up teen rage. Director Carles Torrens stages a couple of decent jolts, but Cortes' script somehow manages to go in twenty different directions without really going anywhere, and it's all capped off with a not-so-twist ending that proves the dumb doctor wrong anyway. You've seen it all before, and much better. At least it's short. (R, 80 mins, also streaming on Netflix)
