92 minutes | MPAA rating: PG
“THE THEORY OF EVERYTHING” My rating: B (Opens wide on Nov. 26)
123 minutes | MPAA rating: PG-13
Even if you’re familiar with the life and work of Stephen Hawking, there’s something humbling about seeing it depicted in a film.
One of the world’s greatest minds trapped in a body that refuses to cooperate. A woman who cares for his every physical and emotional need and bears his children…at least until she cannot any more.
Time. Space. Infinity.
The first thing that should be said about “The Theory of Everything” is that it isn’t actually about Hawking’s cosmological theories of black holes and other scientific conundrums — though they are of course mentioned in passing. It is based on Jane Hawking’s memoir (most recently updated in 2013) and is more a relationship film than anything else.
Fine. We’d rather watch a people story than an illustrated physics lecture. And “Theory” provides the platform for two terrific performances from Eddie Redmayne and Felicity Jones, who must be considered on the short list for this year’s Oscar nominations.
118 minutes | MPAA rating: R
Most of us would like to believe that if faced with a life-threatening crisis we would behave decently, nobly…even heroically.
Uh, probably not. Most of us would be like Tomas, the husband and father whose act of cowardice becomes the topic of Ruben Ostlund’s terse, psychologically ravaging “Force Majeure.”
The Swedish Tomas (Johannes Kuhnke) has brought his wife Ebba (Lisa Kongsli) and two young children to posh ski resort in the French Alps. They appear to be an utterly unremarkable young family.
But while eating lunch at an outdoor cafe, they witness a controlled avalanche set off by explosive detonations. The churning wall of white speeds down a mountainside, hits the bottom of a valley, then begins rapidly climbing toward the terrace on which the diners are sitting.
“Doesn’t look controlled to me,” Ebba says.
Result: chaos. People scream, run, freak out. Ebba grabs her two children and hunkers down behind a table. Tomas cuts and runs, returning to his loved ones only when it becomes clear that the snow never came close to the restaurant, that a cloud of white fog only made it appear that everyone was about to be buried alive.
“WHIPLASH” My rating: B+ (Now showing at the Cinemark Palace, Glenwood Arts)
106 minutes | MPAA rating: R
Fletcher (J.K. Simmons) conducts the elite studio jazz band at New York City’s most prestigious conservatory of music. He’s a musician and educator, though you might be forgiven for mistaking him for a Marine drill instructor…or perhaps a serial killer.
Fletcher enters the rehearsal room with the swagger of a gunslinger flinging open swinging saloon doors. His students don’t make eye contact. They gaze at the floor or at their charts. Nobody wants to draw the alpha wolf’s reptilian stare.
But that won’t save them. Fletcher is routinely profane, insulting, and capable of reducing a young musician to sobs. He seems to take great pleasure in finding a victim at every rehearsal.
“Either you’re out of tune and deliberately sabotaging my band, or you don’t know you’re out of tune — and that’s worse.”
He’s smug, cruel and probably sexist, given his treatment of a woman player in a freshman ensemble: “You’re in first chair. Let’s see if it’s just because you’re cute.”
He punishes those who disappoint him not with pushups but with rehearsals that go on into the wee hours: “We will stay here as long as it takes for one of you faggots to play in time.”
“ROSEWATER” My rating: B (Opens wide on Nov. 14)
103 minutes | No MPAA rating
“DUMB AND DUMBER TO” My rating: D+ (Opens wide on Nov. 14)
110 minutes | MPAA rating: PG-13
“INTERSTELLAR” My rating: B- (Now playing wide)
169 minutes | Audience rating: PG-13
Did I miss something?
Because while I don’t regret having spent three hours watching Christopher Nolan’s “Interstellar,” I can’t quite shake the feeling that there’s less here than meets the eye.
That maybe the Emperor has no clothes.
The film has an epic scope, great visuals, good performances and a payload of scientific/metaphysical ideas percolating throughout.
And unlike many of Nolan’s efforts (among them the most recent incarnation of Batman, “The Prestige” and “Inception”), it has a backbone of genuine emotion.
But why, when the lights came up, was my reaction more “meh” than “wow”?
The film begins in a not-too-distant future. Earth is rapidly dying. Corn is about the only crop not devastated by blight and massive dust storms.
Former astronaut Cooper (Matthew McConauhey) works a farm in what might be eastern Colorado. A widower, Coop lives with his father-in-law (John Lithgow) and his two kids. He’s got a special relationship with Murph (Mackenzie Foy), a fiercely intelligent girl who reports ghostly goings-on in her room, with books being pulled from the selves by invisible hands.
This activity and other clues lead Coop and Murph to a secret base in the mountains where what’s left of NASA (as far as the public knows the program has been shut down) is working on a project to save humanity.
Coop’s old mentor Professor Brand (Michael Caine…always the voice of reason in Nolan movies) explains that a decade earlier a human crew was sent into space, through a wormhole near Saturn, and into another galaxy to look for Earth-like planets to which humanity might migrate.
That earlier mission is presumed lost. Now a second is being mounted. Coop’s arrival is serendipitous — he was NASA’s best pilot — and he is recruited to head the new effort.
But that means saying goodbye to Murph, who is angry and devastated by what she sees as a betrayal by her beloved father.
This takes up “Interstellar’s” first hour. The rest of the film alternates between the mission in space and the lives of Coop’s family back on Earth.
“BIRDMAN” My rating: B+ (Opens Oct. 31 at the Glenwood Arts, Cinemark Palace and Studio 30)
119 minutes | MPAA rating: R
“Birdman” is a tour de force, a heady mix of dark comedy and psychic meltdown with energy vibrating from every frame.
Writer/director Alejandro Gonzalez Inarritu (“Babel”), star Michael Keaton (in a bravura performance) and a terrific supporting cast deliver a movie unlike anything we’ve seen before.
If the film, full name: “Birdman or (The Unexpected Virtue of Ignorance),” isn’t as deep as it thinks it is, there’s no arguing with the jaw-dropping creativity on display — technical, dramatic and thespian.
The setup: One-time movie box office champ Riggan Thomson (Keaton) — who earned worldwide fame portraying a feathered superhero called Birdman — has come to Broadway to write, direct and star in a stage adaptation of Raymond Carver’s “What We Talk About When We Talk About Love.”
Riggan has personally financed the production in hopes of restarting his moribund career (“I’m the answer to a Trivial Pursuit question”) and affirming his artistic credentials.
Turns out his sanity is on the line as well.
TO READ THE REST OF THIS REVIEW VISIT THE KANSAS CITY STAR WEB SITE AT http://www.kansascity.com/entertainment/movies-news-reviews/article3449803.html
“NIGHTCRAWLER” My rating: B (Opens wide on Oct. 31)
117 minutes | MPAA rating: R
There are no fanged vampires, voracious aliens or whispy ghosts populating “Nightcrawler,” but this is a horror movie nevertheless.
In this skin-crawling drama from first-time director Dan Gilroy (whose screenwriting credits include “The Fall” and “The Bourne Legacy”), the ever-changeable Jake Gyllenhaal gives what may be the year’s most disturbing performance as Louis Bloom, a dead-eyed loner/loser who discovers his calling capturing news footage of big-city mayhem.
You may want to bring your own hand sanitizer.
When we first see Louis he’s driving a crappy old Toyota and stealing copper tubing, chain link fences and manhole covers to sell to a metal recycler. It’s apparent from the beginning that he’s a b.s. artist who employs empty loquaciousness and a disarming smile to get out of tough spots. Then he stumbles across a late-night car accident and a pack of freelance cameramen recording the gruesome goings-on, and decides on a career change.
Soon Louis is the proud owner of a police scanner and a cheap video cam. A quick learner, he spends his nights bouncing from crime scene to highway carnage to house fire. Fearlessly barging in on horrible situations, he grabs if-it-bleeds-it-leads footage that impresses even seen-it-all Nina Romino (Rene Russo), news director of a struggling local TV station.
Nina has her own ideas about ideal news footage: “A screaming woman running down the street with her throat cut.”
In short order Louis has a flashy new car and a low-paid assistant, the homeless/hapless Rick (Rick Garcia), who serves as his navigator and second cameraman as the pair zap around Los Angeles, trying to beat the other news crews — and even the cops — to the crime scenes.
“ST. VINCENT” My rating: B (Opens wide on Oct. 24)
102 minutes | MPAA rating: PG-13
Moviegoers may be forgiven for approaching “St. Vincent” with caution.
After all, it features Bill Murray in full-curmudgeon mode as a coot who becomes the reluctant caregiver to the son of a single mother (Melissa McCarthy).
Sounds like a gig Murray could do in his sleep, and plenty of us already have maxed out on McCarthy’s brand of overkill comedy. Moreover, the whole thing reeks of “About A Boy: Geezer Division.”
Except that it works.
With his feature debut, writer/director Theodore Melfi can be accused of dishing Hollywood cliches, but his cast’s sheer good humor and professionalism lift this yarn. And the pile of improbabilities is offset by real heart and solid laughs.
TO READ THE REST OF THIS REVIEW VISIT THE KANSAS CITY STAR WEB SITE AT http://www.kansascity.com/entertainment/movies-news-reviews/article3257681.html
“FURY” My rating: B (Opens wide on Oct. 17)
134 minutes | MPAA rating: R
“KILL THE MESSENGER” My rating: B+ (Opens wide on Oct. 10)
112 minutes | MPAA rating: R
Apart from featuring Jeremy Renner’s best screen performance since “The Hurt Locker,” the new film “Kill the Messenger” is noteworthy as a throwback to the good old days before around-the-clock cable news.
We’re talking about a time when the ink-stained wretches of the newspapers were widely viewed as, well, as kind of heroic.
Badly paid, sure, and probably morally reprehensible in matters of alcohol and other forms of hedonism. But these journalists happily clung to the idealistic notion that their job was to comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable, and in films like “All the Presidents Men” newspaper reporters shined a light on corruption and criminality.
“Kill the Messenger” is based on the career of Gary Webb, a reporter for the San Jose Mercury News who in the mid-1990’s, while covering the crack cocaine epidemic, stumbled upon a seemingly incredible story: To fund a rebel army battling the leftist Sandinista government in Nicaragua, the Contras had been smuggling countless tons of cocaine into the US. The ensuing scandal became known as “drugs for guns.”
Webb never alleged that the CIA was behind the program, only that the CIA must have known about the drugs and tolerated it.
In other words, during the same years that Nancy Reagan was telling America’s kids to “just say no,” our government was allowing a flood of dangerous drugs to inundate the country’s inner cities. Most of the victims of this scourge were black.
Written by Peter Landesman and directed by Michael Cuesta (a veteran of Showtime’s “Homeland”), “Kill the Messenger” starts out as a sort of journalistic procedural. Renner’s Webb stumbles across a secret government document that suggests a partnership between the government and a major drug trafficker. Then, through dogged research, interviews, and travel to Central America and Washington D.C., Webb puts together a story that will rock the country and win him major journalism awards.
“THE JUDGE” My rating: C+ (Opens wide on Oct. 10)
141 minutes | MPAA rating: R
TO READ THE REST OF THIS REVIEW, VISIT THE KANSAS CITY STAR WEBSITE AT http://www.kansascity.com/entertainment/movies-news-reviews/article2585988.html
“GONE GIRL” My rating: A- (Opening wide on Oct. 3)
minutes | MPAA rating: R
The Affleck smirk — the way Ben Affleck, without even trying, looks like a high school halfback who has just initiated one of the new cheerleaders beneath the bleachers — is put to spectacular use in “Gone Girl.”
In David Fincher’s first-rate adaptation of Gillian Flynn’s dark suspense novel, Affleck plays a handsome husband suspected of killing his beautiful wife, who has inexplicably gone missing. Here’s a poor jerk who — despite his best efforts to appear sympathetic in front of the cops, the cameras and the court of public opinion — can’t help coming off as insincere and smug.
Damn that Affleck smirk!
TO READ THE REST OF THIS REVIEW, VISIT THE KANSAS CITY STAR WEBSITE AT http://bit.ly/1uEWHj4
“CHEF” My rating: B (Opening wide on May 22)
115 minutes | MPAA rating: R
The title character of “Chef” works in a hugely lucrative but artistically stifling high-end L.A. restaurant. He has a meltdown and goes off looking to regain his muse of cooking.
Interestingly enough, “Chef “ was written, directed by, and stars Jon Favreau, who first burst onto the scene as an indie auteur (“Swingers,” “Made”) before finding mucho money and Tinseltown clout cranking out superhero movies for the Marvel folk (“Iron Man”).
“Chef” can be seen as Favreau’s return to down-home cooking/filmmaking. Despite its impressively deep cast, it’s a relatively simple, modestly budgeted affair, less a banquet than a delicate palate cleanser.
Nothing earthshaking happens here. No deep emotions are plumbed or existential dilemmas explored.
But if the film is superficial, it is often slyly funny, has a real handle on the restaurant biz and its denizens, genuinely likes its characters, and tries to look on the sunny side. In short, a pleasant couple of hours at the movies.
Carl Casper (Favreau) is top chef at one of Hollywood’s most in-demand eateries. But he’s hit a creative dead end. The joint’s owner (Dustin Hoffman) doesn’t want to tinker with success and consistently nixes Carl’s attempts at an edgier menu.
When a powerful food blogger (Oliver Platt) pans the place as old hat and unimaginative, Carl has a very public meltdown that is recorded by dozens of customers, making him an Internet sensation. But while being the raving chef raises Carl’s profile, it gets him fired and makes him unemployable.
He’s got no choice but to start over. Continue Reading »
“THE GRAND BUDAPEST HOTEL” My rating: B (Opens wide on March 21)
100 minutes | MPAA rating: R
Wes Anderson’s “The Grand Budapest Hotel” is a whopper of a shaggy dog story – or more accurately, it’s a series of shaggy dog stories that fit neatly inside one another like one of those painted Russian dolls.
The film’s yarn-within-a-yarn structure and a delightfully nutty perf from leading man Ralph Fiennes are the main attractions here. I had hoped that “Grand Budapest…” would scale the same emotional heights as Anderson’s last effort, the captivating “Moonrise Kingdom.”
It doesn’t. But there’s still plenty to relish here.
Describing the film requires a flow chart. But here goes:
In the present in a former Eastern Bloc country, a young woman visits the grave of a dead author and begins reading his book The Grand Budapest Hotel.
Suddenly we’re face to face with the writer (Tom Wilkinson), who is sitting at the desk in his study. After a few introductory comments and a brusque cuffing of a small boy who is proving a distraction, the author begins telling us the plot of his novel.
Now we’re in the 1990s in the formerly sumptuous but now dog-eared Grand Budapest hotel in the Eastern European alps. Staying there is a Young Writer (Jude Law) who befriends the mysterious Mr. Moustafa (F. Murray Abraham). An aged empresario who owns several of Europe’s most luxurious hotels, Moustafa keeps the Grand Budapest running for nostalgic reasons.
Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged Adrien Brody, Bill Murray, Edweard Norton, F. Murray Abrham, Harvey Keitel, Jason Schnwartzman, Jeff Goldblum, Jude Law, Ralph Fiennes, Saoirse Ronan, Tilda Swingon, Tom Wilkinson, Wes Anderson, Willem Dafoe | 2 Comments »