Away We Go

Each Sam Mendes film deals with the theme of isolation. The longing to escape, to flee, to become someone else. His latest, Away We Go, is no different. So it is with great pleasure to announce that Away We Go is unlike anything Sam Mendes has ever done.

What if Scorsese made a musical? What if Wes Anderson helmed a Holocaust drama? Their essence would be there, their tone and feel, but the subject matter and style would be completely different. That’s Away We Go. Instead of Thomas Newman’s smooth, cunning score, we get a slew of folksy (yet appropriate) songs from Alex Murdoch. Instead of Conrad L. Hall’s (American Beauty, Road to Perdition) and Roger Deakins’ (Jarhead, Revolutionary Road) shadowy, intense cinematography, we get Ellen Kuras’ open, bright lens.

The beauty of this film starts with Mendes’ bold choice in actors. Leads John Krasinski and Maya Rudolph are known for television comedy (The Office and Saturday Night Live, respectively) but here, they both show remarkable depth and genuine heartfelt emotion.

“Are we fuckups?,” Verona asks Burt one cold evening. At first, you’ll think yes, but the truth is, they are anything but. The couple is excited about having the child Verona is six months pregnant with, but they long for something more. When they find out Burt’s hilariously bewildered parents are moving to Antwerp, the couple decides to trek across the country, in search of a new place to call home.

Their ventures take them to Phoenix, Madison, Miami and even Canada. We get the zany co-worker (Allison Janney, remember her as the emotionally dead mother in American Beauty?), the way-too-out-there friend (Maggie Gyllenhaal) and other family and friends that take Burt and Verona in for a brief stint of time. But the transcendental highlight of the film is when our sturdy couple goes to Montreal to visit some old college friends (Chris Messina, Melanie Lynskey). There, we discover an impossibly happy, albeit mixed, family who all help take care of each other. But things aren’t exactly what they appear. In this chapter, Messina delivers a monologue inside a faux strip club that will leave you speechless. It’s poignant, perceptive and amazingly real. Messina (who you’ve seen as Rebecca Hall’s smart, conservative, and clueless boyfriend in Vicky Christina Barcelona) should get a Supporting Actor nomination based solely on the delivery of that one speech. Classic stuff.

Thank writers Dave Eggers and Vendela Vida for giving Mendes such a great blueprint. In all honesty, I can’t say enough about this picture. It kept me laughing, longing, and guessing until its last frame.

Away We Go is bound to be compared as the “Little Miss Sunshine of the year”, “the Juno of 2009”, “the little indie wonder that could”. Problem is, it’s better than those films; in fact, Away We Go is the most emotionally satisfying movie-going experience I’ve had so far this year. Let it take you. A

OSCAR! OSCAR!

Yes, I am aware that it is entirely too early to start talking about the race. But this is news that must be announced.

The Academy recently said that they will nominate 10 films for Best Picture this year. This goes back to an old Oscar tradition of the ‘30s and ‘40s when nominating 10 films for the top prize was standard.

I imagine this change comes after last year’s Best Picture race, which was heavily criticized for not accepting films from different genres, (The Dark Knight, Wall-E, etc).

How do you feel about this? Is 10 too much? Will it split votes? What surprises will we see that we wouldn’t see if there were five? I know one for sure: expect Up to make the cut.

And so it begins…

Tyson

Is it possible for a person to win Best Actor, even though they are playing themselves, in a documentary? Watching Mike Tyson tell his story in his own unflinching words is no less exhilarating than watching one of his own fights. When Tyson recounts that he learned to fight out of necessity, talking slowly as he fights back tears, stating: “After that, I knew no one was ever going to fuck with me again,” I dare you to not be moved.

James Toback’s Tyson is a film of remarkable candor and depth. You may be suspicious that Tyson would favor himself and leave out details that would incriminate his character. Think again. After just a few short minutes into the film, it’s clear that Tyson’s biggest critic is Tyson himself.

With remarkably honest detail, Tyson remembers his troubled youth in Brooklyn, where he got picked on and beat up regularly. But after that first street fight (the circumstances of which involve a horrifying story about a pigeon), he knew he was out for blood. In and out of jail dozens of times before he was 13, Tyson was given a shot by Cus D’Amato, an old white guy who took Tyson in and treated him like a son. D’Amato taught young Tyson the ropes; the mechanics of fighting, the attitude, the hunger, everything to shape a brilliant fighter.

So as I’m watching the film, which uses swift split-screen and voice-over editing, my one thought was: when do things go wrong? If there is a moment that Tyson started to decline, it was with the passing of D’Amato. In the years following D’Amato’s death, Tyson became the youngest champ ever, slept with hundreds and girls, contracted STDs, blew millions of dollars, and became the vulgar, unstoppable Mike Tyson that many of us recognize today.

But prepare to have your judgments overturned. Tyson admits taking advantage of women, but denies the rape of Desiree Washington, which landed him a three year prison bit. He admits having anger issues, but still found it inappropriate when wife Robin Givens called him out on Barbara Walters. Hell, Tyson even makes you understand why he chomped on Evander Holyfield’s ear (well, sort of).

The point is, this is an honest account of a deeply misunderstood and conflicted man. And believe me, you don’t have to be a boxing fan to enjoy the picture. In fact, there were several older, white women in the audience with me, and our tears fell just the same. A-

Up

How is it that the most adult films over the past few summers have been Pixar animated? This isn’t going to be a normal review. I’m not going to describe the plot or the awesomeness of the visuals (especially in 3-D). Instead I’m going to focus my attention on one particular scene. Because, quite frankly, that’s all you need to know.

Up is unlike any animated movie I’ve seen. Wall-E got damn close, but Up actually made me care. I actually got emotional. I was stunned. Here’s how.

About ten minutes into the film there is a wordless montage that displays a man’s life. The scene, set to Michael Giacchino’s sure-to-be-Oscar-nominated score, is poignant, perceptive, genuine, heartfelt, sad, funny, and effortlessly beautiful. I saw the film six days ago and since then I have been trying very hard to think of a better, more accomplished montage sequence from any film. Ever. And guess what. I've come up short (the quiet, controlled boxing montage in Million Dollar Baby is close, though). The Up scene lasts for around ten minutes and deals with issues that young children won’t understand, and that I wouldn’t dare spoil here. It’s worth the price of admission alone. If this scene was in any live action drama, that movie would be nominated for Best Picture, without a doubt. In short, this is the best sequence I’ve seen so far in any movie this year. Behold a thing of wonder. A-

The Hangover

Todd Phillips, who made the frat-pack famous with Old School, returns with a similar, if not a slightly funnier version of thirtysomethings gone wild.

The plot for The Hangover couldn’t be more packed with clichés. Four buddies head to Vegas for a night of bachelor party debauchery. They wake up, remembering nothing, only to discover that the groom-to-be is MIA. Boring. But the fun of the film is when it deviates from your expectations.

The first hint that this romp may deliver beyond your prospects is that it starts with the end. Then conveniently retraces most of its steps. Another hint is the fact that not a single frame of this film is dedicated to watching the guys get wasted. Think of it as the Reservoir Dogs of drunken hysterics. By not showing us what actually went down, the film plays like a genuine hangover, as the audience tries to put the pieces together right along with the characters.

So, yes, there are a few things that stand out here, but the laughs, for the most part, are pretty plain. Bradley Cooper (the dick boyfriend from Wedding Crashers) cements himself as the next-big-thing, shooting to the A-list with his black suit and slicked-backed hair. Ed Helms (The Office) steals some laughs with a missing tooth, but it’s Zack Galifianakis as the dim-witted brother-in-law that takes the cake. Almost every line he has is delivered with precise comic timing. You’ll be rolling in your seats when Galifianakis questions the authenticity of Caesar’s Palace, or tries to justify his wearing a fanny pack.

If for no other reason, I’ll recommend the film for its closing credits montage. Those ending shots have been stealing most of the film’s buzz, and for good reason. They are easily the funniest moments I’ve seen on screen so far this year. Don’t leave early. B

The Taking of Pelham 1 2 3

Tony Scott first started his now patented, zip-zoom, head-inducing style of filming with Man on Fire, a film I like very much. But he wore that style out with Domino and especially with Déjà Vu. Now Scott is back, toning down his blazing, repetitive cinematography, with The Taking of Pelham 1 2 3, a completely decent action thriller.

The film, a re-vamp of the 1974 cult classic, casts a sturdy Denzel Washington as a train dispatcher, who finds himself quickly, and violently, in the center of a hostage situation. You see, a badass John Travolta has hijacked a train, parked it in an underground tunnel and demanded $10 mil in an hour, or else people start to die. Basic plot, nothing new.

What propels this film above your standard summer flare, are the performances. Washington is great here, putting on a few pounds to really understand the desk worm. James Gandolfini, as the post-Giuliani, post-9/11 mayor of NYC is cunning and smart, leaving Tony Soprano way behind. The rest of the supporting crew is good as well, but it’s Travolta that steals the show. With his shaved head, prison-tattooed neck and manic energy, we totally believe him every step of the way. He’s a villain that talks the talk (as they all do) but he walks the walk as well (which many never do).

The camera may zip around a bit too much, and the music can be annoying (I mean really, how many different remixes of Jay-Z’s “99 Problems” can you put into a two hour film). But I’d say that the Taking of Pelham 1 2 3 is the best action fare out there right now. B

Drag Me to Hell

Welcome to real summer fun. Sam Raimi’s Drag Me to Hell is the best horror film in years. It’s got more thrills and genuine laughs than any movie I’ve seen so far this year. In a genre so etched-out that we always know what’s coming, Drag Me to Hell is one hell of a fresh slice of shock cinema.

Let’s face it, PG-13 horror movies almost always suck (The Grudge, The Haunting of Molly Hartley), and the R-rated ones usually rely too heavily on blood and guts (Saw, Hostel) instead of a good story. But Drag Me to Hell’s rating is almost a blessing. Sure, it’s PG-13, but you wouldn’t know it. No, Raimi does a brilliant job of going back to his Evil Dead days, delivering his violence in a tasteful, albeit gross, manner. Instead of blood, we get bugs. Instead of torture, we get great lines of dialogue (“Here kitty, kitty.”)

Did I mention how the wonderfully timed thrills are matched perfectly with humor? A lot of horror films are unintentionally funny. A cheesy line of dialogue or a completely bullshit method of murder can ruin a film-going experience. Not here. Raimi wants you to laugh. He mocks the film’s outrageous themes and actually makes them funny. Great stuff.

Christine (Alison Lohman) is a loan officer in desperate want of a promotion. She’s told that she needs to be tougher on clients. So when little old Mrs. Ganush asks for a third extension on her home loan, Christine turns her down. Big mistake. Ganush is out of blood, putting a curse on Christine which, if not stopped, will ultimately, you guessed, drag her to hell. But not before some seriously creepy shit goes down. Even her trusty boyfriend (Justin Long, doing good work), can’t stop the madness.

Sure this film has its typical horror-film faults. But roll with it. This is a movie that would benefit greatly from a viewing in a dark, crowded theatre, with hundreds of screaming spectators. I imagine some of its allure will be lost in bright living rooms via DVD. Regardless, Drag Me to Hell is the most fun I’ve had at the movies so far this year. You’re in for one hell of a ride. A-

Terminator Salvation

It’s hard to see what Christian Bale was ranting and raving about; Terminator Salvation is just your standard, popcorn-friendly dud.

Directed by McG (change the name already, pal) this unneeded film brings nothing new to the franchise’s table, instead only confusing the few who care enough to follow along. We’re in the future. Judgement Day has come and gone as The Machines have pretty much annihilated everything. You see, the company that creates The Machines, SkyNet, has become self aware and sworn to kill every living thing. But why? We never know.

John Connor (Bale) is the self-asserted leader of The Resistance, i.e. the people who fight the machines. He thinks he’s found a way to kill every machine permanently, so he volunteers to trek to SkyNet headquarters and give it a go.

Meanwhile, lone tough guy Marcus (Sam Worthington) wanders around a barren LA, looking for some answers. He’s confused by what’s going on, and so are we, because we saw him die in the opening scene of the film. Anyway, Marcus finds his way to resistance headquarters with the help of Kyle Reese (Anton Yelchin).

Now, here’s where it gets tricky.

Reese is Connor’s father, but right now, Reese is a teenager, and Connor is a grown man. You see, Connor must find his father and prevent him from being killed in order for Reese to travel back in time and knock up Connor’s mother. Get it? This awful, lame plot tool is dead on arrival. Think about it. If Reese dies, will Christian Bale just POOF and disappear? Will his pregnant wife’s belly shrink into nothingness? Maybe there are some diehard Terminator-ites to fill me in, but right now, I haven't a clue.

But you pay the $10+ to watch shit blow up, right? Don’t worry, McG dishes out enough fanboy action to fuel a dozen summer films. Humans fight machines. Machines own humans. Helicopters fall from the sky. Bullets are unloaded by the hundreds. Motorcycles zoom. Blah blah blah.

James Cameron redefined visual effects with his first two Terminator films, and gave us one of American cinema’s most popular characters. Jonathan Mostow destroyed the world with his Terminator 3: Rise of the Machines (another unnecessary sequel), and now McG watches the world burn with his film. Bale is good, sure, but have you ever seen him give a bad performance? Either way, nothing can save this plot-hole filled mess. For instance, what/how do these people eat? I mean, let’s be honest, you can’t live off Twinkies and carrots. C-

Angels and Demons

Three years after the silly, unconvincing mess known as The Da Vinci Code, Ron Howard delivers a slightly less silly and unconvincing Dan Brown adaptation with Angels and Demons.

Tom Hanks is back (with a better haircut) as our sturdy hero, Harvard professor Robert Langdon. Langdon’s got it all. He’s smart to the point of ridiculousness, he’s fast and strong despite being in his mid-50s, and he’s rather smooth at wooing foreign babes with his intellect.

Angels and Demons may be better than its predecessor, but not without cutting it a lot of slack. Langdon is called on by the Vatican to help decipher a problem. The Pope has died and the world eagerly awaits the announcement of a new Catholic leader. Meanwhile, some baddie assassin psycho has kidnapped the four Cardinals who were frontrunners for the new job. Meanwhile, some very useful (it could power an entire city) and very dangerous (it could blow up in entire city) antimatter has been stolen from a lab. So, we learn the assassin works for The Illuminati, a vengeful sect of people who the Catholic church seriously screwed over centuries ago. The assassin says that he will kill one Cardinal every hour as an act of revenge. Oh and if they don’t find the antimatter before it runs out of battery (what?) then the Vatican will crumble. Get it? Me either.

After you wrap your head around this jumbled mess of a plot, the movie actually turns out to be pretty fun. Hanks brings his consistent likeability to Langdon. Ewan McGregor, as the Camerlengo in charge while they pick a new Pope, is okay, but never really convincing. Stellan Skarsgård, as the head of Vatican police, plays off his usual assholeishness, but I prefer him as a subtle asshole (Good Will Hunting) or a completely over-the-top asshole (the German director in Entourage). Then there’s Armin Mueller-Stahl, who may be the best actor around that you can never really figure out. Is his character good? Evil? Who knows. But as he’s showed us in Eastern Promises and Shine (for which he won an Oscar) almost no one can blend menace and sensitivity so seamlessly into a wrinkled face.

I don’t discuss the third act in my reviews too often, so I suppose a brief spoiler alert is appropriate here. Having said that, Angels and Demons is well paced, intriguing, and fun. That is until the last 20 minutes, which are completely ludicrous. There are helicopters, explosions, and wannabe plot twists that are just plain lazy. After giving the rest of the film so much slack, you’ll be hard-pressed to give a shit about the end. C-

Star Trek

So, here’s my confession: I’ve never seen anything related to Star Trek… ever. No movies, no TV shows, no cartoons, nothing. However, I don’t see this as a fault. In a way, I’m the best possible audience member to view J.J. Abrams’ new film subjectively, judging it solely for its content, not how it lives up to its predecessors.

Having said that, Star Trek honestly didn't wowed me in any real way. As summer, do-or-die, popcorn-friendly cinema goes, it’s right on point, but in basing it on any other criteria, it falls flat. But have no fear, the film is filled with cheap laughs of slapstick humor, lasers, half naked chicks, fights; basically any fanboy’s wetdream.

Midwestern reckless rebel James Kirk (newcomer Chris Pine), is recruited by captain Pike (a solid Bruce Greenwood) to join the Starfleet Academy. Kirk barely puts up a fight, joining almost immediately, and off we go.

Kirk has dreams of becoming as honorable a soldier (are they soldiers?) as his father, George, a slain hero who died at the hands of baddie psycho, captain Nero (Eric Bana). In the academy, Kirk makes a few buddies, chases a hesitant love interest in Uhura (Zoe Saldana) and pisses off the very smart, very control Spock (Heroes’ Zachary Quinto). Through a series of overly convenient sidesteps, Kirk ends up on the USS Enterprise, fighting against the same crew that killed his pop.

That’s as much of the plot as I care to remember, being as that most of it is rather forgettable. You’ve probably heard that Leonard Nimoy shows up as an older Spock via another convenient plot device involving some sort of time travel that I never fully understood.

Despite its few strong moments, including a badass fight on top of a giant laser beam (is that what it is?) drilling down to the core of a planet, Star Trek wasn’t enough to keep me involved. Take, for instance, the constant teleporting that appears to be everyone’s favorite method of travel. Usually the person has to be standing still, but sometimes they can be plucked right out of falling, thin air, and magically teleported back onto the ship. That’s okay. But why do Kirk and Sulu (John Cho) have to parachute down through space onto the giant laser? Why can’t they just be teleported? I don’t get it.

Another annoying tendency: whenever you watch any movie with a flashlight, you know for certain that the flashlight’s beam will shine directly into the screen, creating an annoying light flare, right? Well, Star Trek doesn’t have any flashlights, but those light flares somehow beam their way onto the screen every few seconds. Whether from an overhead light, a car, motorcycle, or literally out of nowhere, you’ll find yourself squinting several times. And I wasn’t alone, the older couple sitting next to me grew increasingly aggravated by the beams, at one point the woman shrieked: “What the hell is with all the lights? I’m going to have a damn seizure.”

Maybe I’m judging this a little hard. But no matter the genre, I try to pick apart every movie the same. Will you like the film if you’re a diehard Trekkie? Absolutely. Just as I’m sure you’ll appreciate the Lord of the Rings films more if you’ve read the books. But as a complete outsider, I found Star Trek slow and overhyped. Although, I hardly doubt my opinion is shared by Hollywood big shots. No, my guess is we can all expect to see much more of Abrams’ Trek’s for years to come. C-

Note: apparently I’m not the only one picking this film apart. This site goes into great detail as to how ludicrous some aspects of the film are. Oh yeah, warning: SPOILERS.

X-Men Origins: Wolverine

So, here’s Hollywood’s way of stretching a dime: start a spinoff franchise that describe the origin of separate individual X-Men characters. Who cares? Where’s X-Men 4? Oh well, guess we have to focus on this.

If this Wolverine film is a taste of what this summer season has in store for us, then man oh man, prepare to have plenty of mouthwash handy. You’d think the best character of the X-Men films would receive a just treatment with his own prequel. Wrong. Maybe in better hands, but this Wolverine is a real dud.

We start with a cheesy back story that tries to describe where some of Wolverine’s trademark angst comes from. After accidentally killing his father, young Jimmy is off and running with his older brother, Victor. The two grow up and fight through the Civil War, both World Wars and Vietnam, which actually makes for a pretty cool opening credit sequence. But the whole time, I’m wondering one question: why do these two stop aging at a specific age, which happens to be somewhere in their mid-30s, I guess. I knew Wolverine never aged, that he was hundreds of years old, but why or how does he suddenly stop aging. We see him as a 10 year old boy, so we know he grows, but when is it decided that he stops growing?

Once this question popped into my mind, it never left. I’m sure there’s a convenient, comic-book-friendly answer, I just wish a character had mentioned it somewhere.

But let’s move on.

Jimmy (who then becomes Logan, who then becomes Wolverine) and his brother Victor (who then becomes Sabretooth) are recruited by Gen. Stryker to join a team of rouge mutants who go around kicking the shit out of people because Boss Man Stryker says so. Wolverine goes AWOL, moves to Canada, meets a hot teacher, becomes a lumberjack, and lives happily ever after. I wish I were making this up, but no, the plot is this poor and exhausted.

Stryker catches up with him and convinces Logan to undergo a messy procedure that will turn his bones into indestructible metal. If it sounds exciting, believe me, it’s not. In fact, I’m probably doing a better job presenting the film than it does presenting itself. Some cool mutants show up- trickster Gambit, a “jumper” played by Black Eyed Peas front man will.i.am, the Blob, and others. But the film is way past redemption. Even the plentiful action scenes don’t impress, it just feels like stuff we’ve already seen, not to mention the effects (namely Wolverine’s metal claws) which look more computer animated than they did in the first three films.

Hugh Jackman became a star when he first played this character in 2000. He’s got the talent, and the body, to pull a role like this off, but a weak story can’t compel even the most popcorn-friendly audience. I did, however, enjoy Liev Schreiber as Sabretooth. Schreiber brings a snarl and demonic laugh to his beast, making the character surprisingly amusing.

I did not, however, understand how Wolverine and Sabretooth are brothers. If you remember, Sabretooth is one of the key villains in the first X-Men film. In that film the two have an awesome showdown on the Statue of Liberty’s crown, but the fact that they are brothers is never mentioned. So, which is it? Brothers or not? Which director is using artistic license to completely diminish the timely comic books? Or, should I not give so much of a shit? C-

earth

From the technical and visually stunning wizardry that brought you the acclaimed TV show Planet Earth, comes a new documentary about, you guessed it, our very place of inhabitance.

The movie doesn’t really follow a cohesive narrative per se, but instead presents us with a slew of arresting images to fill the frame. Focusing mostly on the different animals of each continent and how they deal with passing seasons, the film is probably exactly what you’d expect. Having said that, there ain’t much here to talk about.

In fact, without the booming voice of James Earl Jones as our narrator, you may have found yourself dozing off in your seat. But the kids will like it (it’s rated G- no mating, no killing), and some of the images are utterly breathtaking.

Is it bad that the most interesting part about the movie is a few behind the scenes clips that play over the closing credits? I know that whole point of the film is to appreciate and respect nature. But it’s just too damn amusing to watch two guys get stuck in a tree via a hot air balloon hazard. B

The Soloist

I could honestly care less whether or not a film is based on a true story. When I see a movie, I judge as a separate, narrative, individual film. I never judge a movie based on how accurately it portrays the facts of a real event or person. It amuses me how many people believe the disclaimer on a movie poster: BASED ON A TRUE STORY. Sometimes a movie can very well depict the real happenings of a life (Antwone Fisher), often a film takes several artistic liberties (JFK, Nixon), other times that disclaimer is complete bullshit (Hostel, Fargo, The Blair Witch Project). But in reality, I could care less.

Having said that, it makes no difference to me that The Soloist is based on the real relationship of Los Angeles Times columnist Steve Lopez, and homeless schizophrenic genius Nathaniel Ayers Jr. The story itself is fascinating, how a guy stretching for a story literally stumbles upon a raggedy man plucking at his two-stringed violin. But in depicting that to the screen, it tends to falter a little.

Don’t blame the actors. Robert Downey Jr. and Jamie Foxx are both brilliant in their respective roles. Foxx does a good job with a tough role as the deeply conflicted Ayers. There are several scenes in which we hear the voices rumpling through his head, and Foxx is such a good actor that we actually think he’s hearing those voices. His character goes on exasperated Rain Man-like tirades that are not only convincing but appealing as well.

But the real show stopper here is Downey. In yet another great role (I can’t think of a bad one), Downey embodies his character. He never forces the tender moments, never stretches for that high-epitome that always happens in films that are “based on a true story”. Instead, Downey plays Lopez with restrained conviction. In short, he’s the best part of the movie.

Sadly, talented British director Joe Wright (Atonement) has a little trouble finding his narrative. There are several sequences in the film that feel misguided and overused. Take for example the extended scene in which wild flashes of colors fill the screen to the harmony of an orchestra. I understand what Wright is trying to do, showing us how Ayers visualizes music in bright, vast motions across a black background. But the sequence simply doesn’t fit, in fact, you’ll find it a convenient time to glance at your watch. There are other scenes too. One involving a CG tracking shot of birds flying (WOW!), another with Lopez’s editor (Catherine Keener) getting shitfaced in front of the Mayor at a fancy banquet (but why? Does her character have a drinking problem? I have no idea), and so on.

Maybe I’m being nitpicky, because honestly, the movie isn’t that bad. The performances will grab you and that is usually enough to enjoy yourself at the movies these days. But after boasting a killer trailer, I was just hoping for a little more. It’s clear why this was pushed back from its original, Oscar-friendly November 2008 release date. The studio probably watched it, saw that it wasn’t going to get any Oscar nominations and decided to conveniently release it in the worst possible season for movies. I’ll recommend the film for its good moments (the subtle ending being one), regardless if it’s based on a true story. B-

The Informers

Bret Easton Ellis, the hyper-stylized novelist behind such cult sensations as “American Psycho” and “The Rules of Attraction” gets yet another book-to-screen adaptation of his best novel yet, “The Informers”.

Movie adaptations of Ellis’ work either nail it or fall flat. To nail it, the filmmaker needs to capture Ellis’ highly satirical view of the world, which is typically set in ‘80s New York or LA. Mary Harron did a great job by not taking her American Psycho too seriously. Roger Avary’s Rules of Attraction, however, faulted badly; it’s amusing, sure, but nowhere near as iconic as the novel.

Adapting “The Informers” wasn’t going to be easy. The book has about 13 different narratives, tons of tricky dialogue and two vampires who live among society as… vampires. But with Ellis’ voice, the book works well. On screen, it fails miserably.

It’s ‘80s LA, and we’re focused, for the most part, on the snobby rich elite. The movie intertwines several story lines, most of which have nothing to do with the other. Sure the film is full of Ellis’ trademark profane, coke infused dialogue, but it’s not enough to keep it afloat.

Not even the likes of Billy Bob Thornton, Mickey Rourke, Kim Basinger, Chris Isaak and Brad Renfro (his last film), can save this meandering mess. It’s not that the actors are bad, but they just aren’t given anything to do. They talk in one-note monotone which quickly loses our attention. The fact that Ellis himself co-wrote the screenplay puzzles me even more.

The whole time I was watching the film, I was waiting for the vampires, thinking it would be very difficult to pull off. I was relieved, at first, when the vampire story wasn’t even incorporated into the film. But then I realized that that was the plot line I was looking most forward too. I guess the filmmakers thought those characters would take away from the film. That's a shame, because this would've been one case where vampires actually put life into something. D

State of Play

How do you trim a rather brilliant six-hour BBC miniseries into an American-friendly, two-hour seat filler? With lots of stars and plenty of zipping dialogue to tell your clichéd story.

Director Kevin Macdonald (The Last King of Scotland) hired three writers (one being Tony Gilroy) to cut the fat out of the TV show and present us with a wildly entertaining political thriller.

Congressman Stephen Collins (Ben Affleck) is investigating a Blackwater-type mercenary group, when his lead investigator (who he just happens to be having an affair with) dies in an apparent suicide. Collins’ old college roommate turned veteran DC journalist, Cal (Russell Crowe) gets assigned the story. With the help of Della (Rachel McAdams), a blogger working for the paper, the two form an unlikely Woodward and Bernstein type-investigation to blow the whole ordeal wide open.

Standard fare for the genre, but the wonder of the film is how it grabs you and barely let’s go. Barely. There are moments between Collins’ wife (Robin Wright Penn) and Cal that take away from the film entirely. Their old affair is spoken of too often even though it never has a lasting effect on us or the plot. Aside from that hiccup, State of Play is enthralling cinema.

If you’ve caught a look at the trailers, you can guess what the best part of the movie is. Helen Mirren, as the tell-it-like-it-is no bullshit editor, is remarkable in her every minute on screen. Listening to her bark orders is a real pleasure; there is no actress out there who can better deliver the line ‘fuck you very much’ with such a sense of uncanny wit.

The rest of the cast is reliably good, notably Jason Batemen, who has a cameo as a sleazy PR executive, and Ben Affleck who does small wonders of character work with a slight Philadelphia accent. But I would’ve loved to have seen the movie as first conceived. State of Play has been in limbo for several years. When first casting, Brad Pitt was set to play the journalist opposite Edward Norton as Collins. That would’ve been devilishly good.

I give credit to this film for dealing with an issue that no other movie has brought up. That’s the eminent notion of internet takeover of print journalism. Brilliantly exhausted on the final season of The Wire, State of Play pays tribute to real stories on real paper, ink smears and all. There’s a great line by McAdams when she says how people need to read this story while holding a paper, not online.

The film remains a constant nail biting experience that had me guessing until the end. And believe me, Macdonald respects his audience, and their intelligence. Be sure to watch the amusing sequence that begins the credits, even though it would’ve made a better opening to the film. B+

Note: Viola Davis shows up briefly in a throwaway role as a coroner. Davis has delivered astonishing, albeit brief, performances in Antwone Fisher, World Trade Center, Doubt, and more. So my question is: why can’t someone give this woman a lead role already?