Midnight Special was hyped quite a bit. The previews were promising, so naturally my expectations were high.
A take on E.T. and Close Encounters of the Third Kind and an apparent tribute to Steven Spielberg, the story is enthralling: a father (Michael Shannon) on the run with his eight-year-old son, Alton (Jaeden Lieberher), comes to the realization that his son is either the messiah or an alien—and perhaps both. Whatever the deal is, Alton’s best interests clearly are not aligned with those of his father and mother (Kirsten Dunst). What’s in store when Alton gets them to their destination in a few days—if they even make it there?
Midnight Special has its moments. The acting is good all around; but Adam Driver as Paul Sevier, a federal agent, adds a nice and much needed touch of goofy, earthy warmth to the mix. Screenwriter/director Jeff Nichols maintains a steady pace and builds momentum with a suspenseful intensity that lasts until about two-thirds of the way through, but then it all grinds to a halt. The film ultimately fizzles because it goes on too long to sustain what it starts. It doesn’t help that Lieberher turns up the creepy factor a notch higher than necessary.
Midnight Special falls short: at heart, it’s a sappy movie about parenting and learning to let go. OK, I guess, but…meh. Not my thing.
I don’t see that many thrillers. This year, though, it seems I’ve somehow seen more in a short span of time than ever. Apparently, 10 Cloverfield Lane is a sort of sequel to Cloverfield, a low budget indie I never saw let alone heard of that sounds like Blair Witch Project. I had to find out what the buzz is about.
After breaking up with her boyfriend, Ben (the voice of Bradley Cooper), Michelle (Mary Elizabeth Winstead) wakes up chained to a bed in a spartan cellar. Erratic weirdo Howard (John Goodman) put her there, and he informs her that he rescued her from the car accident she had as well as the alien apocolypse that started while she was out cold. He stresses to her that she can’t leave the underground mini compound they share with Emmett (John Gallagher, Jr.), another basement refugee Howard saved.
Director Dan Trachtenberg builds the plot entirely on psychological tension, and his pace and intensity are great. Even Tommy James and the Shondells’ peppy “I Think We’re Alone Now” comes off as eldritch. Howard is creepy, and he gives Michelle—and the viewer—ample reason to doubt him. Goodman is brilliant and he steals every scene, but Winstead definitely stands on her own. We don’t know until the end whether Howard is a sincere albeit odd guy or a fucking maniac.
I enjoyed 10 Cloverfield Lane all the way to the finale, but it totally lost me there. The wrap up is too long, too Hollywood, and completely unnecessary. I would have found it more satisfying had the story ended at a specific point and left what happens next to my imagination; not knowing whether Howard is telling the truth holds all the dramatic power. Removing that doubt is a mistake. As is, it’s a disappointingly cheesy end to such a nailbiter.
Overall, 10 Cloverfield Lane kept my attention, but time will have to tell whether it made a big impression on me. I understand the buzz now. I hated the ending, though.
Emelie is the feature film debut of Michael Thelin, whose past work consists largely of concert films and documentaries for acts like Cee Lo Green, Stone Temple Pilots, Paramore, and Panic! at the Disco. Interestingly, he went with a thriller.
Emelie (Sarah Bolger), or “Anna,” is a sitter with a story that becomes evident over the course of her evening watching the Thompson kids, Jacob (Joshua Rush), Sally (Carly Adams), and Christopher (Thomas Blair). Emelie starts out cool enough, giving Jacob the video game his mother took from him earlier and playing dress up with Sally and Christopher. She turns dyspeptic, though, and things get ugly: she messes with their pets, shows them a porn, and leaves out a gun for them to play with. Oh yeah, and then there’s that scene with Jacob and the tampon. Emelie’s got issues, and one of the kids exposes why.
I really wanted to love this film. Clearly, a lot went into it: the plot is carefully constructed with no detail left unexplained. It looks professional, even if a bit made-for-TV. The acting, particularly the little ones, is pretty good. Bolger has a nice Saoirse Ronan (Brooklyn) thing going on. My issue is a technical one: ultimately Emelie is flat. Bolger is creepy and menacing but not scary or intense, and the plot fails to engage beyond a superficial level. In other words, it didn’t pull me into the action; it left me observing it passively from the audience. Disappointing for a midnight movie, I found myself not invested in the outcome. Perhaps Thelin’s next try will be better; I’d like to see more from him.
I expected a long, slow, laborious, and arty history of mankind extending into the near future—well, near for the late Sixties but already a decade past now—set to Classical music, with lots of scenery from outer space and little or no plot. Think of an elaborate promotional video for space travel—that’s what I anticipated. Fortunately, Stanley Kubrick was more sophisticated than that.
2001: A Space Odyssey is a cool film. After a silly opening segment that involves a group of apes, a monolith, and the birth of tools, the story jumps ahead two million years or so to the 21st Century. In the second segment, Dr. Floyd (William Sylvester) shuts down colleages asking questions about a coverup on his way to a space station to investigate an artifact discovered in a pit: it’s a monolith just like the one that sent the aforementioned apes into a frenzy. A third—and the best—segment involves two astronauts (Keir Dullea and Gary Lockwood) on a mission to Jupiter controlled by a computer named HAL. HAL is making mistakes, exhibiting jealousy and vindictiveness, and being generally creepy—a little too human. The final segment is a tripped out time warp for David, one of the aforementioned astronauts. And there’s that monolith again, this time inside a goofy Italian Renaissance inspired bedroom with a glowing dancefloor.
It’s total sci fi, but 2001: A Space Odyssey is clever in ways that allow it to transcend the genre. Kubrick’s vision of the future is not only elegant but remarkably smart and accurate. Humans are still human, but technology is everywhere. Despite the appearance of defunct companies like Pan Am and Howard Johnson’s, his characters use tablets, video conferencing, flat screen TVs, and plastic credit cards. There’s a coffee bar and acronyms for unidentified things called “ATM,” “COM,” and “HIB.” Furnishings and clothing look a little different in a realistic way. The story is open to many interpretations, none of which Kubrick ever debunked. He left a lot of fodder for discussion. I see why it’s on many “best of” lists.
I saw a restored version that included an overture and an intermission. The latter broke up what probably would’ve verged on too long for me.
I’m probably in the minority when I say that I found Vertigo stupid. The story, complicated and intricate as it is, takes a long time to get going; once it does, it’s so fanciful that it’s not believable. The movie is longer than it needs to be. Plus, the ending—I can only assume it’s supposed to be dramatic and impactful—comes off as silly; in fact, Aaron and I turned to each other at the same time and rolled our eyes.
All of this said, it doesn’t mean I didn’t enjoy the film. I did, actually—very much. There’s a lot to like here.
James Stewart is Scottie Ferguson, a cop forced to sit on the sidelines after a bout with vertigo while chasing a criminal across a bunch of rooftops nearly kills him. A wealthy former classmate, Galvin Elster (Tom Helmore), seeks him out and convinces him to act as a personal investigator; it seems Galvin’s wife, Madeleine (Kim Novak), is possessed by her dead Mexican grandmother. She’s hot (even if she’s not one bit Mexican), and Scottie falls for her. Hard. It’s not long before he’s personally involved, wandering through northern California in her car with her. She opens up to him, he takes the bait, and he loses her. Or so it appears.
Vertigo is certainly a beautiful looking film. The interior sets are gorgeous. The exterior shots of late 1950s San Francisco are stunning, and considering how the city would change a decade later makes them all the more precious. The wardrobe choices are classic yet snappy. The restored version I saw was crisp and vivd. An ominous yet mesmerizing score by Bernard Herrmann takes Vertigo to an even higher place—no pun intended.
Being an Alfred Hitchcock film, there’s more to Vertigo than meets the eye. Symbolism is all over: tunnels, flowers, birds, towers, stairs, heights, the color green. It’s not hard to find articles, scholarly and not, that analyze the many themes here: desire, death, reality, appearances, power, the past, the damsel in distress. All this aside, I can sum up the message I got out of Vertigo in five words: “don’t think with your dick.” The interactions between Scotty and both Midge (Barbara Bel Geddes) and Madeleine are sexually charged and tinged with danger. Vertigo is hypnotic, mysterious, psychological, and suspenseful even if it’s not exactly what I would call a thriller.
It takes some work to get through, but Vertigo ultimately proves to be a treat despite its flaws. After almost 60 years, it’s still breathtaking and weird. It’s easy to see why at least one so-called authority named it “the greatest film of all time” (http://www.bbc.com/news/entertainment-arts-19078948). Hitchcock influenced many, but Vertigo immediately called to my mind David Lynch; I see traces of it throughout his work, and its influence on him specifically is undeniable.
In the grand scheme of all things Quentin Tarantino, Reservoir Dogs is not his best work. Sure, it exhibits his trademark wit, crass, and twisted sense of humor in a few Quent-essential scenes, like the diner analysis of Madonna’s “Like a Virgin” (with Sean Penn’s now dead brother Chris sitting there listening but not contributing) and Mr. Blonde (Michael Madsen) making a Van Gogh out of Officer Marvin Nash (Kirk Baltz) while blaring Stealers Wheel’s “Stuck in the Middle with You.” Tarantino does a great job assembling memorable characters and setting up an uncomplicated plot. Smartly, he focuses on the aftermath instead of the failed heist itself, dropping only breadcrumbs of info about what exactly went down.
The problem is that for all its charm, Reservoir Dogs just doesn’t bring enough energy; the plot and the characters feel sketchy and underdeveloped. Tarantino relies heavily on dialogue that can’t sustain the whole film; the characters– especially Mr. Pink (Steve Buscemi) and Mr. White (Harvey Keitel)– talk and yell and kvetch an awful lot while not much actually happens. After not seeing it for over a decade, I was surprised at how long it took to get going. As Tarantino’s first directing job– his “lost” 1987 film My Best Friend’s Birthday, which sort of became the script for True Romance, doesn’t count– Reservoir Dogs is most interesting because it shows a pivotal voice still in development.
I loved it when it came out (I was 21 or 22 years old), and Reservoir Dogs is a respectable start– hell, it’s iconic and better than a lot of movies. Hindsight is 20/20, though, and seeing it again demonstrates that Tarantino’s best work was yet to come. Indeed, his very next film, Pulp Fiction, is lightyears ahead in style and substance: it’s tighter, far more cohesive, and has a lot more pizzaz. What a difference two years makes.
It’s 1967 and a hammer-weilding serial killer is loose on the streets of Krakow. 19-year-old military diver Karol Kremer (Filip Plawiak) puts two and two together after he finds a bloody body at a carnival and spots the killer, a middleaged veterinarian (Adam Woronowicz), leaving the scene. His obsession gives way to a strange relationship that can’t end well. Grim and peculiar, The Red Spider unfolds deliberately and slowly– at times painfully so. But it pays off in the end.
We all have demons, but not quite like those of the Laundryman (Joseph Chang). He is an anonymous hitman with a serious problem on his hands: the ghosts of his victims are following him around everywhere, rattling him and interfering with his job—which is done behind the scenes of a dry cleaning and laundry front. He enlists the help of funky, sassy medium Lin Hsiang (Wan Qian) to rid him of his demons, upsetting his boss, the icy hot femme fatale ex-psychiatrist A-gu (Sonia Sui), in the process. Danger, Laundryman, danger!
A dark comedy romance action thriller with the supernatural thrown in, I loved The Laundryman—and it has so much to love. It’s fun, colorful, and full of great energy. The story and the characters are clever and wonderfully strange, yet somehow plausible despite pushing the limits of ‘suspension of disbelief.’ The cinematography is sharp. The sets are loaded with delightfully tacky details without distracting from the action. Director Lee Chung plays with gender roles and archetypes, making his women fierce and the Laundryman the recipient of unwanted sexual advances. It all adds up to a ghastly good time: never cheesy or boring, The Laundryman is packed with action, suspense, and subtle humor that kept me through the end.
A suspended alcoholic detective (Liao Fan) is pulled back into the game when a gruesome murder is committed—and it looks a lot like the same case that got him suspended five years before. A woman (Gwei Lun-Mei) working at a dry cleaner holds the key to the mystery.
Diao Yinan’s Black Coal, Thin Ice (Daylight Fireworks in China) is a beautifully shot film noir drama. Everything about it is icy and cold: its story, themes, and style all bring a chill. One shootout scene at a hair salon wouldn’t be out of place in a Tarantino movie. Intricate and complicated, it’s a pity I was tired for it. I suspect I missed a bit of interesting subtext that would have made this even more enjoyable.
Tara Fass of Huffington Post was right on the mark when she called Kornél Mundruczó’s White God “a thrilling and visceral fairy tale.” This particular fairy tale traces the parallel paths of Lili (Zsofia Psotta), a brooding teenager handed off to her father (Sandor Zsoter) for three months, and her dog, Hagen (switch hitters Body and Luke), after the two are separated when Lili’s father abandons Hagen on the street. The two main characters– girl and dog– become increasingly feral left on their own. They’re brought together again after a series of events culminating in a beautifully orchestrated over-the-top canine takeover of the city reminiscent of Hitchcock, Disney, and Tarantino. Think of Old Yeller on crack. Not what I expected, which is what drew me in and kept me watching.
Bonus: all of the dogs in the film were strays that reportedly were adopted after shooting ended.
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