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Posts Tagged ‘Jude Law’

Jude Law

“THE ORDER” My rating: B (In theaters)

114 minutes | MPAA rating: R

The torn-from-the-headlines crime drama “The Order” offers the spectacle of two Englishmen — Jude Law and Nicholas Hoult — portraying distinctively American characters with smoldering intensity.

They’re terrific.  

Perhaps even more salient is the way that Aussie director Justin Kurzel’s film, though set almost 40 years in the past, resonates ominously with our current zeitgeist.

When we first encounter Law as FBI agent Terry Husk, he’s almost unrecognizable.  Law has for so long been a sex symbol that seeing him slightly overweight, with a droopy mustache, puffy features and a slightly disheveled look, our brains can hardly take in the transformation. (He did much the same thing earlier this year by beefing up to play King Henry VIII in “Firebrand.”)

After a long career fighting organized crime, Terry has been assigned to reopen the bureau’s dormant Idaho office (the setting is the early 1980s).  It’s a low-keyed assignment, presumably to reward him for years of high-intensity, dangerous work.  His main concern is finding a house for his wife and kids (whom we never see).

Uh…no.  A missing person report turns into a murder case; the victim is a white supremacist whose loose lips apparently teed off his swastika-lovin’ buddies.  And before long Terry is neck deep in an investigation of a growing terrorist threat.

Nicholas Hoult

Hoult plays Bob Matthews, a charismatic/conniving hater who, frustrated that the Aryan Nation leaders are too slow to begin a race war, has created his own spin-off sect, “The Order.”

(Has any other actor in recent years played such a wide variety of roles?  Hoult has been a war boy in “Mad Max: Fury Road,” a hilariously entitled Russian tsar in “The Great,” a mutant in the Marvel Universe.  He’s played author J.R.R. Tolkien, and appeared in “The Favourite” for director Yorgos Lanthimos.)

Matthews has recruited a small army of similarly-inclined social outcasts and begun a campaign of bank and armored car robberies and bombings. They’re printing counterfeit money.  

He also orders the assassination of Denver radio talk-show host Alan Berg (Marc Maron), who routinely ridicules the separatist/supremacist mindset.

Hoult is so good you can see why malcontents are drawn to him.  But he also deftly explores the character’s growing sense of personal power and the contradictions between the Christian faith he extolls and his clearly unChristian proclivities.

Screenwriters Zach Baylin, Gary Gerhardt and Kevin Flynn stick remarkably close to the historic facts, which provide several opportunities for well-staged action sequences.

Terry is aided in his investigation by a fellow agent (Jurnee Smollett) and a local cop (Ty Sheridan) whose roots in the community prove invaluable in unravelling the mystery.

Hanging over it all is a pall of nervous anticipation that renders even the beautiful Northwestern landscapes somehow threatening and sinister. The hate speech, the waving of The Turner Diaries, the determination to punish “race traitors” — it’s all a bit too familiar for comfort.

Looking around our country today, one concludes that Bob Matthews would be pleased.

| Robert W. Butler

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Angela Nikolau, Ivan Beerkus

“SKYWALKERS: A LOVE STORY” My rating: B (Netflix)

100 minutes | MPAA rating: R

If the usual horror movies no longer creep you out, spend some time with the young protagonists of “Skywalkers.” This doc will leave you sweating, swaying and palpitating. 

Angela Nikolau and Ivan Beerkus are Russian twenty somethings who practice extreme climbing, also known as rooftopping.  They get their kicks — and earn a living — by sneaking (or breaking) into high-rise buildings, climbing to the very top floor and then shimmying up the narrow spires that point to the heavens.

The climb is only part of it.  Once on top of the world Angela and Ivan take photos and videos that they sell worldwide through the Internet.  

Often Ivan will lift Angela over his head in a death-defying pas de deus. She will change into fancy costumes and then pose on the precipice like a runway model with a death wish. They employ drones which often fly around the summit, inducing in viewers a massive case of vertigo.

It’s beautiful.

It’s terrifying.

Jeff Zimbalist’s documentary centers on the couple’s attempt to climb Kuala Lumpur’s Merdeka, at 118 stories the second tallest structure in the world. 

The local authorities have already nabbed other climbers and sentenced them to long prison sentences. Angela and Ivan try to reduce the risks by doing all their planning in nearby Thailand and only going to Kuala Lumpur on the eve of their climb, scheduled to coincide with a big World Cup game which, hopefully, will keep construction workers and security guards looking at their TVs and not for intruders.

(Narratively, the film bears a close resemblance to “Man on Wire,” the Oscar-winning documentary about Philippe Petit’s 1974 tightrope walk between the World Trade Center towers.)

“Skywalkers” calls itself a love story, and it is that, too.  Angela, who has the lithe figure and acrobatic instincts of a ballerina, comes from a broken family and discovers with Ivan not only personal romance but also an sense of accomplishment.  They may be viewed as a troublesome Bonnie & Clyde by the authorities, but they see themselves as practitioners of a new art form.

The most riveting moments are provided by the footage the two climbers get from the Go-Pro cameras they carry with them. We feel like we’re on the climb with them.  And the views are spectacular (they’re usually so far up there are clouds below them).

On the ground…well, I wonder if  what we see there is genuine documentary footage or after-the-fact re-enactments.  I say this because the interactions between the two lovers seem so carefully staged, the camera angles and editing so sophisticated, that I have a hard time accepting that this was fly-on-the-wall cinema verite footage. It looks too polished.

But there’s no doubt about the authenticity of the climbs themselves.  They’re a visual assault that’ll leave you gasping for breath.

Jude Law, Alicia Vikander

“FIREBRAND” My rating: B (On demand)

221 minutes | MPAA rating: R

The makers of “Firebrand” want very much to  examine  a famous bit of Tudor history through a feminist perspective.

It’s a little ironic, then, that the overwhelming personality on display is that of good old Henry VIII, played so memorably by Jude Law that I wouldn’t be surprised to see him get an Oscar nod.

Directed by Karim Ainouz and scripted by Henrietta Ashworth, Jessica Ashworth and Elizabeth Fremantle, “Firebrand” centers on Katherine Parr, the last of Henry’s six wives.

Queen Katherine (a makeup-free Alicia Vikander) is, initially at least, so trusted by the King that he leaves her in charge of the country while he’s off battling Frenchmen.  

But Katherine thinks for herself.  She is particularly troubled by Henry’s Church of England which, after a few years of relatively liberalism (commissioning an English translation of  the Bible so that the common citizen could read the Gospels). has now retreated into control-freak mode just as smothering as the now-outlawed Catholicism.

Early in the film Katherine sneaks off to visit her childhood friend Anne Askew (Erin Doherty), an intellectual, preacher and fugitive for her incendiary opposition to the English Church’s iron-fisted version of Protestantism.  

That meeting will come back to haunt her when Katherine is accused of betraying her royal hubby.  And we all know how Henry dealt with wives who didn’t please.

For a while it appears that “Firebrand” is going to get lost in the weeds of period politics and cultural minutiae.  All that changes when Henry returns from France and Law takes over the proceedings.

Sexy Jude Law as bloated, bloviating Henry VIII?  Doesn’t sound like that should work.

But with a prosthetic stomach and a bristly beard Law makes a seemingly effortless transformation.  His Henry is suffering from a gangrenous leg that eventually will kill him, but not even pain and the prospect of death can curb his emotional sadism and casual brutality. 

Moments of human frailty and emotional neediness are eclipsed by episodes of anger and physical violence.  The guy may be king, but he’s a loathsome mess. And the most compelling thing in the film.

In its final stages “Firebrand” blows off actual history for a “what if” approach that will induce winces from dedicated Anglophiles but proves satisfying from a dramatic viewpoint. Hey, it’s only a movie.

| Robert W. Butler

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Carrie Coon, Jude Law

“THE NEST” My rating: B

107 minutes | MPAA rating: R

The opening scene of “The Nest” contrasts images of moneyed American domesticity — Dad playing soccer with his kids, Mom training horses — against a menacing musical score right out of a horror film.

“The Nest” isn’t a horror entry per se, but over the  course of a downwardly-spiraling 107 minutes it does reveal the horrors lurking just below the surface of what looks like an ideal household. It’s a great topic for writer/director Sean Durkin’s followup to his dark 2011 thriller “Martha Marcy May Marlene.”

And it provides an acting tour de force from Jude Law and Carrie Coon.

Early on the British-born Rory (Law) informs wife Allison (Coon) that he’s been approached by a former boss to return to the U.K. for a prestigious position in acquisitions and mergers. Allison is at first reluctant to leave the States (she’s a Yank), but gradually gives in to the promise of more money and a change of scenery.

When she and the kids — Samantha (Oona Roche), her teenage daughter by a previous marriage, and 10-year-old Ben (Charlie Shotwell) — arrive in London they are driven out into the burbs to a huge Georgian mansion Rory has rented for them. Despite the home’s storied history (apparently members of Led Zepplin lived there for a spell), its full-size soccer field for Ben and space in which to build a stable for their horses, Allison is turned off by the place.  It’s too big, too dark, too pretentious.

Rory, though, is on a hubristic roll, full of plans to get rich. To prove his newfound status, he presents Allison with a full-length fur coat.  Though she makes snide remarks about Rory’s sharkish fellow employees and their posh, social-climbing wives, she still finds excuses to pull on that expensive wrap.

It doesn’t take long for cracks to appear.

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Natalie Portman

“VOX LUX” My rating: B 

110 minutes | MPAA rating: R

One of the movies’ recurring themes — the pop/country/rock idol who makes great music despite (or perhaps because of)  personal demons — gets an innovative reworking in Brady Corbet’s “Vox Lux.”

The ever-surprising Natalie Portman is terrific as Celeste, a sort of musical mashup of Madonna, Gaga and especially Sia (who wrote the film’s original songs). But whereas those divas seem to more or less have their heads on straight, Celeste is always walking a fine line between musical brilliance and emotional meltdown.

Interestingly enough, Portman doesn’t appear on screen until halfway through the film.  Corbet’s screenplay opens with a horrific scene from Celeste’s youth — a school shooting that leaves our teen protagonist (Raffey Cassidy) with a bullet permanently imbedded in her neck (this explains her  collection of scar-hiding chokers).

Almost by accident, Celeste’s fame as a survivor of tragedy segues into a burgeoning career in music. Under the guidance of a savvy but fatherly manager (Jude Law) she begins recording songs with her older sister Eleanor (Stacy Martin) and touring the world. (The sisters have parents, yes, but they are seen only fleetingly.  Clearly, they’re not important to this yarn.)

Initially the girls behave like the good small-town Christians they are…but life in the fast lane takes its toll.  Celeste loses her virginity to the lead guitarist (Micheal Richardson) of a semi-psychedelic rock band.

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Jude Law as Dom Hemingway

Jude Law as Dom Hemingway

“DOM HEMINGWAY” My rating: B- (Opening April 18 at the Glenwood Arts, AMC Studio 30, and Cinemark Palace)

93 minutes | MPAA rating: R

Every now and then an actor needs to get outside his comfort zone.

In “Dom Hemingway,”  Jude Law leaves his usual suave screen persona wimpering in the dust.

That it’s going to be a bumpy ride is evident from the first shot of the film, a long take of Dom’s face and naked shoulders as he screams about the power of his penis.

It’s a mighty organ, to hear Dom tell it, capable of upending empires and slaying women who merely get a glimpse of it, and his spittle-spewing rant goes on for two, three, maybe even four minutes of uninterrupted profane poetry.

Oh, did I mention that Dom’s in prison and being pleasured by a young inmate while he lets rip with his phallic analysis?

Dom has spent the last 12 years in a British prison for refusing to give up the crime boss for whom he worked.  Now he’s getting out, and he fully expects to be repaid for his time behind bars.

He’s met at the prison gates by his old pal Dickie (Richard Grant, marvelously greasy), who over the years has lost one hand on a job and now wears an inflexible prosthetic in a black leather glove.

Dom has two things immediately on his mind.  First, sex.  Dickie has provided a couple of eager birds for just that purpose.  Second, he beats the living crap out of the nondescript guy who married Dom’s ex-wife (she has since died of cancer) and raised Dom’s daughter (Evelyn).

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Ralph Fiennes in Wes Anderson's "The Grand Budapest Hotel"

Ralph Fiennes in Wes Anderson’s “The Grand Budapest Hotel”

“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.

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Rooney Mara...depressed

Rooney Mara…depressed

“SIDE EFFECTS” My rating: B

105 minutes | MPAA rating: R

For more than half its running time, Steven Soderbergh’s “Side Effects” keeps us guessing as to just what sort of movie it is.

It begins with a handsome young man, Martin (current “it” guy Channing Tatum), being released from prison.

So maybe it’s a gritty film about Martin trying to rebuild his life after years in stir?

But then we get to know his wife, Emily (the marvelous Rooney Mara, late of “The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo”),  an emotionally fragile individual coming apart at the seams. No sooner is her husband back home than she attempts suicide by driving her car into a wall.

So maybe it’s a hard-hitting film about depression?

Emily and Martin visit a shrink, Dr. Banks (Jude Law), who puts her on a powerful new antidepressant (he’s also a paid consultant for the drug’s manufacturer). Then Emily begins having bizarre sleepwalking episodes and does something really horrible and criminal.

So maybe it’s a socially-conscious film about our prevalent drug culture and an industry that tries to peddle dangerous side effects-heavy pharmaceuticals as if they were soda pop?

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Downey as Sherlock...man of 1,000 disguises

“SHERLOCK HOLMES: A GAME OF SHADOWS”  My rating: C 

129 minutes | MPAA rating: PG-13

The Robert Downey Jr.-powered “Sherlock Holmes” franchise, like the “Transformers” franchise, makes me feel very, very old.

Both series are hugely successful. Apparently they make other moviegoers terribly happy.

But they leave me feeling…empty. For all their visual razzle dazzle, there’s no there there. I might as well be beating myself over the head with an inflated pig bladder for all the pleasure these movies provide.

I know, I know. What a disagreeable old man I have become.

It’s not that I cannot appreciate superficial charm.  But these movies aren’t charming. Just superficial.

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Gwyneth Paltrow...not feeling so good

“CONTAGION’’ My rating: B (Opening wide on Sept. 9)

105 minutes |MPAA rating: PG-13

There’s no shortage of big names in the cast, but the real star of “Contagion” is filmmaker Stephen Soderbergh.

His latest is a hypnotic juggling act, a carefully calibrated mashup of characters and situations that proves him a master storyteller.

This time the maker of “Traffic,” “Erin Brockovich,” “Che” and “Out of Sight” (and, yes, the “Ocean’s” flicks) delivers a “what if?” thriller about a killer flu pandemic that puts mankind on the ropes.

“Contagion” paints a grim but fully-detailed picture of how we’d react in such circumstances, and it’s not pretty.

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