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Anastasia Shevtsova

“POLINA” My rating: B-

108 minutes | No MPAA rating

On the surface, “Polina” appears to be a fairly typical dance film, one that follows an aspiring ballerina from childhood through rigorous training to triumph on the stage.

Except that’s not really what it’s about.

Valerie Muller and Angelin Preljoca’s film begins in Moscow where young Polina (played as a child by Veronica Zhovnytska) begins serious ballet training under the demanding Bojinski (Aleksey Guskov), who frequently berates her for allowing her emotions (there are troubles at home) to interfere with her technique.

Young Polina takes his words to heart, so much so that in class she radiates a sullen stoicism.  Only when she’s walking home alone does this little girl allow herself to caper in the snow with childlike enthusiasm.

As an adolescent (now played by Anastasia Shevtsova) she’s good enough to be accepted by the prestigious Bolshoi Ballet. But emotionally she’s a closed book.  What is she thinking? What does she really want?

Polina gives herself (with only limited enthusiasm) to a fellow dancer, a French lad (Niels Schneider) interning with the Bolshoi. When he returns to France she follows, joining a regional company presided over by Liria (Juliette Binoche), a choreographer who complains that while Polina may be technically perfect, she exhibits no passion.

This then, is the heart of “Polina”: When will our heroine overcome her emotional blockages and open up to the expressive possibilities of dance? (Hint: the film ends with a knockout modern dance piece choreographed by co-director Preljocaj.)

The problem with all this, of course, is that an emotionally blocked character isn’t very interesting.

While Shevtsova is obviously a lovely young woman and an accomplished dancer, her acting chops appear limited.  In any case it’s hard to read what’s going on behind her character’s blank exterior, and that makes “Polina” itself more an exercise in technique than in feeling.

| Rober W. Butler

Mart Avandi, Liisa Koppel

“THE FENCER”  My rating: B-

99 minutes | No MPAA rating

Given the recent flap over NFL players taking the knee during the playing of the national anthem, we probably shouldn’t be surprised at how often filmmakers turn to the nexus of sports and politics/social issues (“Chariots of Fire,” “42,” “Race,” etc.)

The latest film to examine that tension is Klaus Haro’s “The Fencer,” an Estonian production set during the bad old days of Stalinist purges.

Endel (Mart Avandi) comes to a tiny Estonian burg in the early 1950s to teach physical ed at the local elementary school. He’s quiet and keeps to himself,  and admits he has no affinity for children. Moreover, he’s a big-city guy, having spent the last few years in Leningrad, and is bored to death with provincial life.

This all seems highly suspicion to the principal (Hendrick Toompere), a doctrinaire Marxist who resents what he sees as Endel’s elitist background.  He does everything he can to sink the new coach’s athletic programs, including giving all the school’s ski equipment to a local military base.

Endel responds by pulling his epee out of storage, fashioning swords out of marsh reeds, and launching a Saturday morning fencing class.

In doing so he’s taking a great risk. Not just because it makes the principal even madder, but because Endel is living a dangerous lie.

During the war, while Estonia was occupied by the Nazis,  he and his classmates were drafted into the German army.  They were unwilling soldiers; Endel eventually escaped and hid out in the woods until the end of hostilities.

But by Stalin’s crazed reasoning he and  his fellow draftees are traitors.  Under an assumed name Endel has been able to pursue his passion for fencing, winning several titles, but now the secret police are on his trail.  A stay in a forced labor camp seems inevitable. That’s why he’s trying to find anonymity out in the sticks.

 

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Nicholas Hoult as author J.D. Salinger

“REBEL IN THE RYE” My rating: B- 

106 minutes | MPAA rating: PG-13

“Rebel in the Rye,” the new biopic about reclusive author J.D. Salinger, isn’t bad.

Nor is it particularly inspired.

As an overview of Salinger’s early life, his years of frustration and his emergence as a major American voice with Catcher in the Rye, it lays out the facts competently. Director Danny Strong, making his feature debut after a stint with TV’s “Empire,” puts on a decent show with a limited budget.

And former Brit child actor (“About a Boy”) Nicholas Hoult demonstrates  acting chops that could carry him into more leading man roles.

Strong’s screenplay begins with the PTSD-suffering author in a mental institution in the late 1940s, then flashes back a decade to his college years.

At Columbia Jerry Salinger falls under the influence of writing professor Whit Burnett (Kevin Spacey), who sees terrific potential in his student despite the kid’s self-indulgence and an unwillingness to take suggestions from anyone. At the same time  Jerry launches a romance with Oona O’Neill (Zoey Deutch), estranged daughter of acclaimed playwright Eugene O’Neill (and future wife of Charlie Chaplin).

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Colin Firth, Taron Egerton

“KINGSMAN: THE GOLDEN CIRCLE” My rating: B- 

141 minutes | MPAA rating: R

For a movie that isn’t actually about anything, “Kingsman: The Golden Circle” is ridiculously diverting.

Those who saw the original “Kingsman: The Secret Service” a few years back will be treated to more of the same, only on steroids.  This sequel is bigger, faster, noisier and funnier than the original.

Plus, this time around writer/director Matthew Vaughn shows a surer hand at balancing the movie’s over-the-top violence with a refined comic sensibility.

Things begin with our hero Eggsy (Taron Egerton) trying to juggle his duties as a member of the super-secret Kingsman security apparatus against his romance with Tilde (Hanna Alström), an honest-to-God Swedish princess.  For a former car thief with a taste for a white rapper wardrobe (sweats, ball caps), Eggsy has come a long way in a brief time.

But it all comes crashing down when the entire Kingsman operation is destroyed in one fell swoop.  The only survivors are Eggsy (who was having dinner with the King of Sweden when it all happened) and the bald, tech-savvy Merlin (Mark Strong).

What happened? Well, an international drug lord named Poppy (Julianne Moore) and her Golden Circle gang are clearing the deck prior to a big push for world domination.  A nostalgia freak, Poppy lives in seclusion in the Cambodian jungle in her own private theme park…imagine Disneyland’s Main Street U.S.A. redone with a “Happy Days” theme.

She’s even kidnapped Elton John (playing himself) so that he can perform her favorite hits at will. (This year’s best bit of celebrity casting.)

Seeking allies, Eggsy and Merlin travel to Kentucky where they encounter the Statesmen, their Yank counterparts, a band of American free agents posing as a distilling concern.  These cowboys — literally…we’re talking Stetsons, boots and electric bullwhips capable of slicing steel — have names like Champagne (Jeff Bridges), Tequila (Channing Tatum), Whiskey (Pedro Pascal) and Ginger (Halle Berry).

Oh yes…the Statesmen have been providing shelter to an amnesiac who has suffered a rather nasty bullet wound in the noggin.  He is, of course, Harry Hart aka Galahad (Colin Firth), Eggsy’s mentor and a fatality (or so we thought) in the first film. (I’m not giving anything away here…Firth is all over the ads.)

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Dominique Abel, Emmanuelle Riva, Fiona Gordon…atop the Eiffel Tower

“LOST IN PARIS” My rating: B+ 

83 minutes | No MPAA rating

Imagine “Amelie” made by Buster Keaton.

That’ll provide an idea of the disarming blend of charm and goofiness on display in “Lost in Paris.”

Made by the husband-and-wife team of Dominque Abel and Fiona Gordon (he’s from Belgium, she’s Australian), this wacky but thoroughly satisfying comedy is part vaudeville routine, part silent movie, and all pretty wonderful.

Fiona (Gordon) is a Canadian librarian who looks like a cartoon character. Her face is long, her neck even longer. She’s like a red-headed Olive Oyl who peers at the world through glasses so big they dwarf her face.

Early in “Lost in Paris” Fiona receives a message from her beloved Aunt Marta, who years earlier fled snowy Canada for the life of a dancer in Paris. Now, reports Marta (the late, great Emmanuelle Riva), the social workers want to relocate her from her apartment to a retirement home.  They say she’s losing it.

To rescue her auntie Fiona must get entirely out of her comfort zone, flying to France and negotiating the city  beneath a gigantic red backpack topped with a Canadian flag. She just misses Marta, who in an effort to keep her freedom has taken to living on the street.

Worse, Fiona is separated from her backpack, losing her money, passport, clothing and cell phone. Suddenly she’s homeless as well.

 

 

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Jake Gyllenhaal

“STRONGER” My rating: A- 

116 minutes | MPAA rating: R

“Stronger” is the story of Jeff Bauman, who lost both legs in the Boston Marathon bombing. The subject matter alone is enough to give potential moviegoers pause.

Is this going to be a weepy? A jingoistic flag-waver? Is it gonna be, oh God, inspirational?

There are plenty of arguments for steering clear of “Stronger.”  Ignore them.

For in adapting Bauman’s memoir writer John Pollen and director David Gordon Green have given us what may be the year’s most potent drama, a masterful blend of personal narrative and social observation.

It’s a film about despair, resilience, family and romance.  Yes, it’s deeply emotional, but less in a crassly manipulative Hollywood way than in the sense that it nails so many truths about the human condition.

You’ll cry.  In fact, anyone who can sit through “Stronger” without tearing up at least three times had best stop wasting their money on movie tickets and start saving for a bass boat.

But it’s a cleansing cry, not an exploitative one.

In the film’s first 10 minutes we’re introduced to Jeff (Jake Gyllenhaal, quite possibly Oscar bound), a “chicken roaster at Costco” and a classic example of blue-collar Boston. He’s a drinker and a sports idiot, traits he shares with his boisterous, brawling, low-credit-score uncles and cousins. He’s kind of unreliable, which is why his girl Erin (“Orphan Black’s” Tatiana Maslany) has broken up with him yet again.

Jeff decides he can win back Erin by passing on  a Sox game to cheer her on as she runs the Boston Marathon. He’s at the finish line holding a hand-made congratulatory sign when the bomb goes off.

Almost immediately director Green demonstrates how to ease into an uncomfortable issue with grace and taste.  We don’t see the immediate bloody results of the blast.  But we’re with Erin in a bar when the TV news shows a photo of the seriously wounded Jeff being carried away by a man in a cowboy hat. (We won’t actually see a re-enactment of the event until flashbacks in the movie’s third act.)

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South African rhino breeder John Hume

“TROPHY” My rating:  B

108 minutes | No MPAA rating

Big game hunting — a incendiary topic known to break up marriages and ruin Thanksgiving dinners — gets remarkably  non-judgmental treatment in “Trophy,”the new documentary by Saul Schwarz and Christina Clusiau.

By turns maddening, melancholy and thoughtful, “Trophy” will defy the expectations of those who instinctively damn big game hunting as a bloodthirsty vestige of our primitive reptilian brains.

But it doesn’t exactly give hunters a clean bill of health, either. In the film’s last scene an American who has spent many thousands of dollars and years of planning to bag an African lion weeps over the body of the animal he has just killed — not out of regret but, presumably, because his dream has been fulfilled and there’s no beast of comparable magnificence on his hit list.

Big game hunting and the worldwide industry that supports it is a monstrously large topic, and  “Trophy” is a sprawling and often unfocused affair. It often seems the filmmakers weren’t quite sure how to tell their story — or exactly what the story is — and ended up throwing lots of stuff at the wall to see what sticks.

This seemingly unstructured approach — no narration, and only a few graphics displaying the current populations and death rates among endangered species — forces audiences to remain alert and to put their prejudices more or less on hold. For whatever you think about the film’s subject, one discovers there’s always more to learn.

(Of course, there are always the tremendous visuals…the film is often as beautiful as one of those National Geographic specials.)

“Trophy” begins with Texas sheep breeder Phillip Glass accompanying his young son on the kid’s first deer kill. Appreciate it or not, this is a rite of passage experienced by hundreds of thousands of Americans.

The film then cuts to South Africa where hunters takes down a rhino with a tranquilizer dart, then saw off the animal’s precious horn. What looks like a barbarous act is anything but. By removing the horn they are ensuring that the rhino — one of a thousand maintained by real estate millioinaire John Hume on his sprawling breeding farm — will be of no value to poachers, who would happily kill the creature in order to sell its “magic” horn on the thriving Asian black market. (Because of its alleged medicinal properties, a rhino horn can go for $250,000.)

“Trophy” takes us to the world’s largest big-game convention in Las Vegas, where American hunters get motivated to tackle the Big Five (that’s when a hunter has bagged an elephant, a lion, a leopard, a rhino and a buffalo).

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Natalia Pavelkova

“ZOOLOGY”  My rating: B- 

91 minutes | No MPAA rating

By turns funny, grotesque and touching, “Zoology” is a modern-day fable about a woman whose life is transformed by, well, an unexpected growth spurt.

Natasha (a terrific Natalya Pavelkova) is a paper pusher at a local zoo in a Russian city so emotionally stifling that everything, from the leaden sea and sky to the graffiti-marred concrete walls, is the same blueish gray.

Natasha is gray, too.  She’s in her fifties but looks much older; her unkempt hair is turning white, and she wears drab, shapeless, colorless clothing.

The other women in the zoo’s administrative offices make fun of her (once a mean girl, apparently, always a mean girl) and play nasty tricks.  The one good thing about Natasha’s job is that it gives her a chance to commune with the animals; on the sly she slips sausages to the big cats and throws bread crumbs to the ducks.

Early on in Ivan I. Tveerdovsky’s film Natasha seeks medical help for lower back pain. It’s only when she’s on the X-ray table that her terrible secret is revealed.

She has grown a tail, a fleshy, hairless thing that hangs down behind her knees.

This appendage has a mind of its own, twitching and throbbing.  In the bath it surfaces through the suds like a submarine’s periscope. (All the “tail” effects appear to be practical, no computer animation. They’re utterly convincing.)

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“MOTHER!”: WTF?

Jennifer Lawrence, Javier Bardem

“MOTHER!” My rating: C 

121 minutes | MPAA rating: R

Darren Aronofsky is a master filmmaker whose grasp of movie technology and cinema’s esthetic possibilities has few equals.

But  you’ve got to wonder about his choice of subject matter.

There are moments of pure genius on display in “mother!”,  along with a sustained depiction of madness to equal anything ever seen on the screen.

But they are in the service of an eschatological puzzle that will leave most audience members scratching their heads.  The movie is clever to a fault, but at the risk of emotionally alienating all but the most die-hard theological geeks.

You know we’re in the world of heavy-duty (if not pretentious) metaphor when all the characters are denied names and identified in the credits as Mother, Him, Man, Woman, Younger Brother, etc.

Mother (Jennifer Lawrence) lives in a remote, formerly splendid country home with her husband, the considerably older Him (Javier Bardem). Him is a novelist with a bad case of writer’s block; he can’t make the ideas flow and it’s making him pathetic and cranky.

Mother, meanwhile, busies herself with restoring the old mansion, a job she has taken on singlehandedly.

Michelle Pfeiffer, Ed Harris

Their isolated lives are interrupted by Man (Ed Harris), who claims to be a physician doing research nearby. He’s been misinformed that Mother and Him are running a b&b.  When Him learns that Man is a big fan of his writing, he invites the visitor to move into a guest room.

Mother isn’t thrilled, and is even more upset when Man’s wife, Woman (Michelle Pfeiffer), shows up as well.  They are the guests from hell:  smoking, drinking, acting like they own the joint and making out like horny teens. This part of “mother!”, at least, is wickedly funny.

Woman is a nosy meddler who wants to know the nature of her hosts’ sex lives and presses Mother for an explanation of their childless state.

Mother pleads with her husband to evict the interlopers, but his ego is desperate for their fawning praise. Moreover, Man appears to be dying of lung cancer. What kind of person would toss him out?

The first half of the film climaxes with a murder.

In its wake Him finds inspiration, writes a new novel and impregnates Mother.

All seems copacetic until the night thousands of Him’s fans descend upon the house and begin a riot, holding orgiastic ceremonies, stripping the house for souvenirs and, eventually, turning their attention to the infant  Mother delivers in the midst of these cabalistic reveries. (Shades of “Rosemary’s Baby”!) Continue Reading »

Hugh Bonneville, Gillian Armstrong

“VICEROY’S HOUSE” My rating: B 

106 minutes | No MPAA rating

Gurinder Chadha’s “Viceroy’s House” is more history lesson than viable drama. But it’s compelling history, told with insight, cinematic savvy and a sense of scale that would make David Lean proud.

The screenplay (by Chadha,  Paul Mayeda Berges and Moira Buffini) concentrates on the last days of British rule in India in 1948, and the efforts of the last Viceroy of that country, the famous Lord Louis Mountbatten, to juggle dozens of competing interests to ensure that the new Indian republic gets off to a good start.

As it turns out, this is a fool’s errand, thanks to the perfidy of Mr. Churchill’s government (represented here by actors like Michael Gambon and Simon Callow). which is pulling strings behind the scenes.

But Mountbatten, a supremely decent man as played by “Downton Abbey’s” Hugh Bonneville, is a hopeful, sincere and largely selfless warrior doing what he thinks will be best for millions of Indians.

The film follows two trajectories.  First there’s the arrival of Mountbatten and his Lady Edwina (Gillian Anderson) and his installation as Viceroy amid all the pomp and ceremony of a royal coronation. Unlike virtually all of the Viceroys who served in India over three centuries,  Mountbatten and his wife are concerned mostly with the common good.

While Lord Mountbatten spars and cajoles with the leaders of various factions — historic figures like Mahatma Gandhi, Jawaharlal Nehru and Muhammad Ali Jinnah — his wife turns to humanitarian concerns. Both work to eliminate the Brit racism that seeped through previous administrations. Both seriously try to understand the culture and ethos of the great continent which they are charged with giving away. Continue Reading »