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Archive for November, 2012

Riley Keough and Juno Temple

“JACK AND DIANE” My rating: C (Opening Nov. 30 at the Screenland Crossroads)

110 minutes | MPAA rating: R

 “Jack and Diane” is a teenage lesbian love story.

And, no, it’s not hot.

Instead it’s…well, weird. Strange. Definitely pretentious.

Diane (Juno Temple…last seen as the trailer court white trash Lolita in “Killer Joe”) is a British teen spending the summer with her aunt in NYC. 

We first encounter Diane wandering around Greenwich Village, begging strangers to let her use their cell phones. With her unkempt blond mane she looks like the waif on a poster for the Broadway musical “Les Miserables.”  When she’s under pressure (which is often) her nose bleeds. She has a tendency to pass out in odd places – like on the floor of a bathroom in a noisy disco.

When she runs into the boyish Jack (Riley Keough, Elvis Presley’s granddaughter) it’s love at first sight. At least on Jack’s part (she has a mix tape she has long wanted to share with someone special). It takes Diane a bit longer to get on board (apparently she has had no prior sexual experience).

Bradley Rust Gray’s film follows the two young lovers as they come together, pull apart, party, and fight. There are confrontations with Diane’s disapproving aunt (Cara Seymour). On the rebound after a nasty spat, Jack has a fling with an older woman (Kylie Minogue).

And throughout Gray alternates the live action with disturbing stop-action animated sequences by the Brothers Quay. Here strands of hair, knots of viscera and rivulets of blood writhe sinuously and make squishy, slurping noises.

The girls watch an unsettling internet  web site on which college girls are drugged and sexually abused.

At one point Diane transforms into a werewolf and eats Jack … but apparently that’s only a dream.

Never mind.

“Jack and Diane” (no relation to the John Mellencamp song with the same title) has a queasy Cronenberg-ish feel to it, with allegory, fantasy, eroticism, and adolescent angst colliding.

There’s a lot going on here and the acting is okay…but then why does it feel as banal as a teenage slumber party?

 | Robert W. Butler

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“ANNA KARENINA” My rating: B (Opens wide on Nov. 30 )

130 minutes | MPAA rating: R

Georgeous to gaze upon but muted dramatically, Joe Wright’s “Anna Karenina” is an honorable adaptation of Leo Tolstoy’s great Russian novel.

But then  I don’t expect ever to see a movie that captures all the aspects of this monumental piece of literature, which contains within its pages not only a story of doomed love but a practically encyclopedic portrait of upper-class tsarist society.

In a way Wright (his resume includes “Pride and Prejudice,” “Hanna,” “Atonement” and “The Soloist”) has given us a  Cliff’s Notes version of the book that touches on most of the main themes without developing them with anywhere near the detail provided by Tolstoy.

Part of the problem is that most of us go to “Anna Karenina” expecting breathless, tragic romance. That was the main selling point of earlier movie versions with Greta Garbo and Vivien Leigh.

Tolstoy had no intention of writing a romance. In depicting the affair of the married Anna (Wright protégé Keira Knightley) and the handsome but shallow officer Vronsky (Aaron Taylor-Johnson), his goal was not to bathe in swooning emotion but to dissect – some would say clinically and cruelly – the flaws in human character and in society at large that will lead to his heroine’s eventual downfall.

To the extent that Wright’s approach to the material is also clinical, he emulates Tolstoy. The problem, of course, is that we want, nay, demand to be emotional voyeurs, and this film’s dour take doesn’t give us the kick we’re expecting.

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“KILLING THEM SOFTLY”  My rating: B

97 minutes | MPAA rating: R

“Killing Them Softly” has the grimmest world view of any film since Lars Von Trier’s “Melancholia.”

The difference is that despite destroying the Earth in the last scene, the pessimistic Von Trier found tremendous beauty on this spinning rock.

“Killing Them Softly,” on the other hand, is a jaundiced wallow in greed and corruption, a gritty and deliberately ugly tale of crime and consequences that evokes grim laughter but leaves behind the bitter taste of bile.

Based on a novel by prosecutor-turned-writer George V. Higgins (whose The Friends of Eddie Coyle became a brilliant crime film in 1973), this effort from Aussie auteur Andrew Dominik is so brutal as  to be shocking even to jaded contemporary sensibilities. Yet you can’t call it exploitative or cheap.

Our hero (the word is used advisedly) is Jackie Cogan (Brad Pitt), a mob enforcer  dispatched to post-Katrina New Orleans to clean up a mess.

Three oily (literally…they seem to sweat 10W-40) criminals (Scoot McNairy, Ben Mendelsohn, Vincent Curatola) have robbed an illegal poker game run by Markie Trattman (Ray Liotta).  A few years earlier Markie arranged the robbery of his own game, a bit of outside-the-box thinking that earned begrudging admiration from his fellow lowlifes.

Of course, you can only pull off that sort of thing once, and that’s what the three mooks behind  this new crime are counting on. In the wake of yet another robbery everyone will assume Markie is going for a perfecta. The presumption of guilt will fall on him, allowing a clean getaway for the true perps.

Except that the lethally laid-back Cogan isn’t falling for that. He knows that Markie is too smart to pull the same stunt again. Problem is, everybody else is thick as a brick.  All the gamblers in town assumes Markie is the bad guy, and to keep peace in the valley Markie – even if he’s innocent – must be made an example. (more…)

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Mads Mikkelsen and Alicia Vikander

“A ROYAL AFFAIR” My rating: C+ (Now at the Tivoli and the Rio)

137 minutes | MPAA rating: R

 It’s got no shortage of plush costumes and castles, not to mention an egalitarian sensibility that resonates with modern  audiences.

But I found Nikolaj Arcel’s “A Royal Affair” (Denmark’s submission to this year’s Oscar competition for foreign language film) dry and morose and not much fun.

Historically, at least, it seems to be pretty accurate.

In the mid 1700s an English princess (Alicia Vikander) is wedded to Denmark’s King Christian VII.  It is not a happy marriage for a variety of reasons.

For one thing, England seems positively liberal compared to repressive Denmark. Upon arriving in her new home, young Queen Caroline finds that much of her personal library has been seized for espousing the heretical ideas of the Enlightenment.

But that’s just a minor blip compared to the challenges posed by her husband. King Christian (Mikkel Boe Folsgaard) is flat out nuts. He drinks and whores to excess, is indifferent to his royal duties. The best education available has left him no better prepared to rule than a besotted frat boy at some Midwestern college.

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There’s no shortage of Mel Brooks out there in home video land.

His movies (“Blazing Saddles,” “Young Frankenstein,” “The Producers,” etc. etc. etc.) have long been available on DVD.  Ditto for all the episodes of his ‘60s TV comedy series “Get  Smart.”

But the Shout Factory’s new five-DVD, one-CD collection “The Incredible Mel Brooks” employs a different approach. This massive undertaking is mostly about Mel Brooks the raconteur…and taken as such  it is flat-out wonderful.

Oh, three’s lots of other stuff here,  including Brooks’ Oscar-winning animated short “The Critic” and single episodes of his TV shows “Get Smart” and “When Things We Rotten” (not to mention the “Mad About You” episode in which he was guest star). There are short films and brief TV appearances on various variety shows (Sid Caesar).

But the real joy of “The Incredible Mel Brooks” comes when the man just sits down and talks.

Amassed here are all of Brooks’ TV appearances on the Johnny Carson and Dick Cavett talk shows, as well as an extended recent conversation (before a live audience) between Brooks and Cavett (and, out in the house, Carl Reiner).  These are screamingly, hilariously, off-the-wall riotious.

In a recurring series of featurettes Brooks discusses his filmography…these segments aren’t always terribly funny, but they’re full on insights about a moviemaker who sometimes seems to be winging it. Turns out Brooks gives his projects a lot of thought.

And a good chunk of one of the discs is turned over to Brooks’ most lingering creation, the 2000 Year Old Man.

In addition to 11 hours of viewing, this collection provides a 60-page booklet with essays by the likes of Gene Wilder, Bruce Jay Friedman and Robert Brustein.

So, if you have a Mel Brooks fanatic in the family, this is the perfect holiday gift.  Or, you can buy it for someone close and then watch it yourself.

| Robert W. Butler

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“SILVER LININGS PLAYBOOK”  My rating: B+  (Opening wide on Oct. 21)

122 minutes | MPAA rating: R

With “Silver Linings Playbook”  director David O. Russell (“Three Kings,” “I Heart Huckabees,” “The Fighter”) has made a screwball comedy about mental illness that is simultaneously very funny and dead serious about the pain inherent in such a diagnosis.

This movie shouldn’t work. It could have fatally derailed at any one of several junctures.

And yet thanks to a stupendous cast and Russell’s almost supernatural ability to juggle scenes, moods and  characters, the film emerges as a small triumph.

Our troubled hero is Pat Solitano (Bradley Cooper), back in his parents’ suburban Philadelphia home after several months in a psych ward. Pat is a manic depressive who, even in repose, seems to be engaged in an internal wrestling match with his demons.

A school teacher before he discovered his wife was having an affair (Pat beat her lover nearly to death), he returns to “normal” life filled with energy, ambition and a determination to win back both his job and his spouse.  He is desperately, unnaturally optimistic, looking for a silver lining in even the most disheartening setbacks.

He’ll need all the optimism he can muster. His former co-workers are terrified of him and his wife has taken out a restraining order.  And he’s still a very sick puppy, a guy with no filters on his behavior. (Pat goes berserk whenever he hears a particular Stevie Wonder song he associates with his wife’s infidelity).

Pat’s parents provide his old room, if not conventional  stability. Pat Sr. (Robert DeNiro) is a laid-off blue-collar type who has launched a new career as a bookie. He’s obsessed (that’s the only word for it) with the Eagles, and on game days follows an exacting ritual which he believes makes his team invulnerable.  He watches the contests on TV, having been banned from the stadium for brawling.

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“LIFE OF PI”  My rating:  A (Opens wide on Nov. 21)

127 minutes | MPAA rating: PG

If ever there was a novel that defied the journey to film, it is Yan Martel’s 2001  “Life of Pi.”

The narrative presents a daunting logistical nightmare for any filmmaker. Most of the story involves a shipwrecked teenager who spends months at sea sharing a lifeboat with a huge Bengal tiger. It’s the sort of setup that demands the utmost of film technology.

And, in the book’s final pages, Martel introduces the possibility that our young hero is an unreliable narrator, that he has invented this epic yarn to cover a much more tawdry, shameful and shocking reality.

How do you make that work on the screen? I thought it couldn’t be done.

I was  wrong.

Ang Lee’s film version of “Life of Pi” is so good on so many levels that it’s unsettling.

Not only does Lee capture the vast arc of this unconventional survival tale, but he renders it in the best 3-D I’ve ever witnessed (the only thing that comes close is “Avatar”). Moreover, the entire film is a visual tour de force, a panorama of such hallucinogenic beauty that words cannot do it justice.

For mind-blowing visuals it is rivaled only by the acid-trippy “star gate” sequence at the end of “2001: A Space Odyssey.” This film has that sort of impact. (more…)

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“LINCOLN” My rating: B (Opens wide Nov. 9)

150 minutes | MPAA rating: PG-13

The first thing you must know about Steven Spielberg’s “Lincoln” is that in the title role Daniel Day-Lewis gives the performance of a lifetime.

Yeah, yeah, we’re all accustomed to Day-Lewis diving heart and soul into the characters he plays. But in “Lincoln” he outdoes even his own high standards.  Two minutes into the film you no longer are even thinking in terms of technique and performance. Daniel Day-Lewis has vanished to be replaced by freakin’ Abraham Lincoln.

The second thing you must know about “Lincoln” is that it’s less a movie than an illustrated history lesson, that it is forever becoming bogged down in political discussions and declamatory monologues. There’s not much forward momentum. It comes perilously close (in at least this man’s opinion) to being a dramatic dud.

It’s Spielberg’s deal with the devil: one of the finest performances you’ll ever see in a borderline mediocre package.

Though ”Lincoln” is based in part on Doris Kearns Goodwin’s brilliant book “Team of Rivals” — about how Lincoln gently rode herd on his dissenting and oft-times disloyal cabinet members —  Spielberg and screenwriter Tony Kushner concentrate on a different story: the effort to ban slavery through passage of the 13th Amendment to the Constitution.

“Lincoln” contains a brief scene of chaotic fighting, but the real battle here is one of words and ideas.

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Helen Hunt, John Hawkes“THE SESSIONS” My rating: A (Opening Nov. 9 at the )

95 minutes | MPAA rating: R

“My penis speaks to me.”

Mark O’Brien, a devout but conflicted Roman Catholic, is confessing to his parish priest.  

Mark  has been paralyzed from the neck down ever since contracting polio as a child. He spends all but three or four hours of every day in an iron lung and can only go to church by being strapped onto a gurney pushed by one of his care-givers.

Mark can feel his body, he just can’t move it. And now, at age 38, he’s determined to finally have sex with a woman.

“I’m getting close to my ‘use by’ date,” he explains, introducing his plan to hire a sex surrogate to take his virginity.

Mark O’Brien (1950-1999) has already been the subjects of an Oscar-winning documentary, 1997’s “Breathing Lessons.”

“The Sessions” takes a fictional approach to a particular aspect of O’Brien’s life, and in tackling an eyebrow-raising situation with humor, compassion and insight writer/director Ben Lewin has given us a film less about disabilities than about the human condition.

(Lewin, a veteran of nearly 40 years in television and documentaries, knows of which he speaks. He gets around on crutches, the result of his own boyhood brush with polio).

Mark is played by John Hawkes, who was so effective a couple of years back as a coiled-spring Ozarks meth head in “Winter’s Bone.” Here he cannot act with his body at all, spending most of the movie flat on his back and unmoving.

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“SKYFALL” My rating:  B- (Opens wide on Nov. 9)

143 minutes | MPAA  rating: PG-13

The plot of “Skyfall,” the latest (and, according to a rising chorus of voices,  best) of the James Bond franchise, is irrelevant. The narratives of all these movies are interchangeable.

Here’s what matters:

Daniel Craig’s blue eyes, followed closely by his pecs.

Bond’s skin-tight gray suit, practically a character in its own right.

The gold Aston Martin from “Goldfinger” (the ejection seat still functional), taken out of mothballs for a last run.

Javier Bardem’s ridiculous blond Euro-mullet.

Judi Dench’s no-nonsense, mother-knows-best M.

Ben Whisaw’s gawky whiz-kid Q.

Chases.

Explosions.

Scenery.

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