CriticSociety- film reviews

Review

Bad Santa

Director

Terry Zwigoff

Year

2003

Rating

Reviewed by

Gon Curiel a.k.a. Groucho

Review date

Thursday, October 30, 2008

The true horror behind, for example, coulrophobia, a.k.a. fear of clowns, is that despite their colorful or friendly attires, they’re not to be trusted, which makes their look all the scarier, because they’re disguised to appear friendly knowing that’s what they’ll look like and hiding perhaps a sinister intention that doesn’t immediately meet the eye. There is also a term, incredibly enough, for the fear of Santa Claus: Santaphobia.

I remember once when I was a child how my sister wouldn’t stop crying after my father tried to convince her to pose with Santa for a picture. I couldn’t stop laughing, in turn, because I couldn’t see what scared her so much. I know now. That guy could have been anybody dressed as Santa, probably even a pedophile, who knows, or not to go so far, he could’ve been a foul-mouthed alcoholic safecracker who only did what he did to manufacture a robbery on Christmas Eve.

That’s the case of Willie, the decadent louse who represents Santa every year in a store and hates it, but must do it in order for he and his African-American dwarf pal Marcus, who plays, quite suitably, the elf, to study the whereabouts and find a crack in the security system which they can break on Christmas eve, to open the safe and run with the money.

They’ve been doing this for many years and it works every time, but Marcus is getting tired of Willie: he’s getting worse and worse every year, more irresponsible, drunker, careless, even stupid. He bangs large women in the “bigger sizes” dressing room. He comes to work drunk and drinking. He swears in front of children. And he doesn’t really give a shit about anything anymore. Too bad he’s the one with the safecracking know-how.

The mordent comedy is mostly about Willie, who isn’t all that much of an unsympathetic fellow, despite being able to yell in a top insulting mode at a woman who approaches him in the food court for her son to ask Santa for a Christmas present. Billy Bob Thornton does much of the magic, playing with the harsh script by Glenn Ficarra and John Requa to make the edgy comedy somewhat amiable, never diminishing its black tone but making it rather accessible and understandable, as human and as real as can be. It comes off irresistible.

Next to Thornton at all times is Tony Cox as Marcus, who plays it straight and turns out funny as hell, and then way scary. The story, which revolves around Willie, finds many more tweaks in the human realm, such as a hot bartender with a Santa fetish (Lauren Graham) and a store manager who can’t keep it together (a hilarious John Ritter, who died before the film’s release). Bernie Mac plays the security chief who smells a rat.

Because even if it’s supposed to be the blackest of all comedies it couldn’t have gone without significance for the already awfully punished leading character, Willie has an arc that’s triggered thanks to a weird kid who approaches him and treats him as the real Santa. The kid (played outstandingly by Brett Kelly) is lonely and desperate but doesn’t act like it. Never trying to make a fool of himself or of Santa, he gets to the man’s heart though that’s never either’s intention—Willie’s is to take advantage since the kid and his luxurious house are guarded only by a comatose grandmother, and the kid’s is perhaps to befriend somebody since he’s totally maladjusted.

There’s rarely a scene where Santa isn’t swearing his mouth out and/or insulting somebody, but it never wears out. It’s a total innovation to have a “hero” being such a jerk without our constantly hating him. Somehow, for all that he is and he’s been through, we want him to keep going, and hate everyone who tries to stop him. For all that we know, there’s no happier ending than everyone else shutting their fucking mouths up and letting Willie speak his mind, or their getting out of Willie’s fucking way for him to do whatever the hell he wants to do. I can’t praise the script enough. Or director Zwigoff. Or Billy Bob Thornton.

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Review

Blindness

Director

Fernando Meirelles

Year

2008

Rating

Reviewed by

Gon Curiel a.k.a. Groucho

Review date

Tuesday, October 28, 2008

“Blindness”, originally titled “Ensaio sobre a cegueira”, by José Saramago, is one of the very few novels I’ve read more than once. I still remember being absorbed the first time by its nameless world and the author’s pungent and often humorous observations and side notes about everything that he’s mentioning during the telling of the story.

I dreaded its film adaptation because at the end of the day, despite its strong commentary on human nature, it’s a crude story, only tolerable by the striking storytelling style of Saramago with which he weaves his book, and now that it’s been made I have confirmed that it was indeed something to be afraid of, because it can never ever be the same in this visual media that plays very little with imagination and very much with images that can be disgusting or unbearable or, well, images after all, even if most characters can’t see them.

However, since it has been done, someone else’s outstanding work comes to the table: Fernando Meirelles’. He thoroughly understood and respected the author’s intentions and brought this important story to countless people by filming it in English, with obvious commercial implications I have no doubt, but nevertheless keeping such important elements as the anonymity of the society that’s being portrayed, and the namelessness of the characters, who are referred to only by their title or profession.

Perhaps to give the viewer the feeling of desperation that most characters have, photographer César Charlone made it all white as if with bleach, which at times gets tiresome but indeed achieves what was probably the intent and must be recognized.

The story is about a blindness epidemic that’s quite curious: the blind can only see an overwhelming white blur, rather like an excessive clarity, and have no symptoms of common blindness, not even psychological. It turns contagious and spreads like good gossip, which by all means generates disruption and chaos.

The way the chain of cases grows is shown from the first few, from the unfortunate man who loses his sight while in his car (Yuseke Iseya) to the doctor who treats him (Mark Ruffalo) to his wife (Julianne Moore) to his patients (Alice Braga and Danny Glover, among others) to most everyone else who crosses their paths. What happens when blindness spreads uncontrollably should be discovered during the watching, but speaks loads about human nature at its worst, or rather at its most desperate.

The doctor’s wife is the one and only person, as far as we’re concerned, that mysteriously never loses her sight. Don’t expect an explanation of this or even of the blindness, because the film doesn’t offer it, just like the book didn’t. This is not intended to become a study of illness but an essay of humanity, hence the Portuguese title. As the only person who can see, the doctor’s wife must use that unique of all tools, sight, to make her way, defend her own, and bring some much-needed sense to it all.

Her adventures and misadventures are certainly something to behold, as she’s got to struggle against humans-turned-monsters not only when they’re desperately hungry and dirty but also when they’re taking advantage of the situation to abuse others. One such character, played by Gael García Bernal, is memorable. Moore, wide-eyed with those big, black, meaningful windows of her soul, is perfect as the only one who can see, as well as the one who suffers the most, in her own personal way.

If much or even some of the meaning of Saramago’s novel is lost in translation, that’s a shame. To some of us, the story still holds unmatchable power that’s almost intact onscreen. For the pleasure of one of the best novels ever written to survive on its own, I would still recommend the reading. But the film is not a waste at all.

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Review

Bangkok Dangerous

Director

Danny Pang

Oxide Pang

Year

2008

Rating

Reviewed by

Gon Curiel a.k.a. Groucho

Review date

Saturday, October 25, 2008

If the Pang brothers had intended to mock their own work by remaking Bangkok Dangerous (1999) in Hollywood, they probably wouldn’t have been as successful as they were by trying to remake it with no pun intended. I totally wasted my time watching this nonsense so I can’t but recommend that you stop reading this review or it’ll mean wasting your time too, and that’s supposing you’ve been spared by the insult of watching this film which, if you haven’t been, can only be worsened by reading about it in the hands of another hater, unless that helps you as a sort of minor catharsis considering the great load on your shoulders that is having seen this piece of crap and not even being able to start ordering your mind about how goddamn bad it is. Apart from that therapeutic help, I’m writing this as a painstaking effort to rid whoever’s been spared this awfulness from going for it, so be warned: there’s only trashing here. Hope it’s at least fun to write and read. It’s better than the film, I assure you. On second thought, it better be, or who do I think I am to write about anything at all.

Turns out Nicolas Cage’s production company acquired the rights to remake the Korean film in Hollywood and rumors started to spread: would Nicolas reprise the role of a deaf-mute? Would they really be so bold as to go that way? Of course not, and they’re unabashed in admitting it: How could they ever sell a movie where Cage didn’t speak a word? Still, the premise of a main character being deaf-mute hence unable to hear the shooting of bullets, which in the original take made the lead character a cold-blooded killer who not only was deranged but also couldn’t feel his killings because he couldn’t hear his gun, was so intriguing that they had to put it somewhere: why not the girlfriend. Also Cage couldn’t be an apprentice or protégé, he’s old enough to be his own man, plus he’s a star, not to be diminished, so changing that wouldn’t hurt of course, let’s make him the main man, and another guy his follower, and let’s not even make that other guy deaf-mute, because he might be quite good at it and might as a result steal the spotlight from Nick, because it would also mean giving him the romantic subplot which would probably turn out interesting to the audience, so let’s just hook up that kid with a stripper and give the deaf-mute girl to Cage for no reason at all except to create a “wonderful” scene where this killer cold-bloodedly disposes of a few muggers during a date with the deaf-mute girl who’s looking away and can’t hear the shots but can very well notice the blood that has been spilled on her back and can also see the dead bodies a second after they became dead bodies and can dump the boyfriend for good and let that be that. The term deaf and dumb is derivative for sure, when applied to people, but not when applied to movies, and that’s what this one is for sure. It’s disconnected. It’s off. I couldn’t think of a better insult I’m afraid. I myself feel dumb after this, because that’s what it inspired me.

So, sure, it’s all stupid, but I guess we’ve still got good action by this great actor who can get an Oscar and be an action hero, but no! He’s sloppy, clumsy, tired, a hybrid of the loser Cage can play so well and the shadow of an action hero which he once was, he doesn’t even look fit, he looks awkward, uncomfortable with the role, he looks like he wants to run away from this job, and who can blame him, so we can’t believe for a second that he’s this mastermind who not only can fool a few bodyguards and shoot at will without missing but can also hold his breath under the water for over five minutes and wrestle a fat guy to death in the middle of that.

There are a very few scenes that are entertaining and they all involve the apprentice so, ha!, the joke is on Cage who couldn’t help this guy from stealing the show from him and how glad I am! That guy, Shahkrit Yamnarm, is absolutely disposable, but he’s as good as Nicolas Cage in Leaving Las Vegas when compared to Nicolas Cage here. If Cage is gonna be this bad from now on, I hope he stays in Bangkok, though I should apologize to Korean people for my ill wishes.

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Review

Touch of Evil

Director

Orson Welles

Year

1958

Rating

Reviewed by

Gon Curiel a.k.a. Groucho

Review date

Thursday, October 23, 2008

Touch of Evil is intriguing for countless reasons, the main being that it’s one more of the unforgivable episodes in history where Orson Welles’ brilliance was diminished or neglected by Hollywood, contributing to his desperation that became a trademark. Seen from the opposite point of view, the very idea of his helming this film was rather self-destructive. Legend tells many stories about this piece but one that really rings true is that Welles took on the project as a challenge to make any “trash” good. I wouldn’t dare say he surely said that, but I’m pretty sure he thought so, and he was right, but that attitude is hardly acceptable by the standards of people who want to play safe all the time and loathe anyone willing to take chances with their money.

That Touch of Evil ended up not only far from its creator’s vision but reduced to B-movie status (playing as a second feature upon its release) is one of cinema history’s greatest ironies, and much of what gives it the significance it has today. (Like many of Welles’ contributions, this one found its way in history centuries later and with great difficulty.)

The novel the story is based on, “Badge of Evil”, which can hardly be found nowadays, involved a similar storyline except there were no Mexicans involved. It was supposedly Welles’ idea to set the tale in the Mexican border with a corrupt American Police Captain being suspected by a Mexican Narcotics Agent of planting evidence to flawlessly solve a murder case. The investigation takes on many unwanted paths, like the endangerment of the Narc’s wife, a beautiful American.

Though the story could be set anywhere and its characters replaced by any with more familiar characteristics, Welles decided to give the story his own twist for extra flavor and personality, and his success at it is undeniable. There’s no other film quite like Touch of Evil. It’s not only seeing Charlton Heston in the role of a Mexican (which is intriguing in itself though) or an American cop playing villain against a heroic Mexican one, but the whole thing is played like it belongs to a world of its own, unabashedly defying all conventions and demanding its place in the world. This wasn’t going to come easy, and Orson probably knew it, and he got what he deserved, and we got it, too, though many years later: an irresistible classic. Welles’ “suicide missions” were just fascinating.

Welles himself plays Quinlan, the nasty villain, covered in padding that makes him look obese, which by the way looks surprisingly realistic and rather confusing nowadays, since he did go on to become overweight in real life, but is actually fake and one more of the film’s assets. As said, Heston plays Vargas, the hero who suspects Quinlan and researches his previous cases to find evidence of faked evidence in them. As it happens to many heroes, Vargas is not all that memorable, as opposed to his wife, an innocent victim with a fiery personality who’s caught in the middle of her husband’s idealism and the world’s corruption, or Quinlan, who appears to be nasty much more on account of a lifelong frustration than because he wants to be.

There are a couple of scenes where Quinlan encounters a fortunetelling gypsy with an old history with him (played enigmatically by Marlene Dietrich) which show off his decaying humanity and his tragic story with few images and even less words. You end up pitying this fat bastard. The ending only makes it worse. And that’s the beauty of it.

As for Vargas’ wife, the American girl played by Janet Leigh, with a story of her own, and meaning much of what is at stake, there’s plenty to be said, one thing (to sum it up) being that Leigh is perfection, and quite gorgeous, perfect for the part. Every supporting character is as good, including a few of Welles’ friends in cameo, of which Joseph Cotten is as mocking as ever, and Mercedes McCambridge as chilling as only she could get.

One obligatory mention should go to the opening scene, indeed an incredible continuous shot that follows a car and a couple of newlyweds through the streets of the Mexican border town, set to a sassy theme by Henry Mancini. Cinematically, the scene is faultless, featuring outstanding photography and camerawork. No wonder Touch of Evil is usually called a technical masterpiece. What impressive work by cinematographer Russell Metty, in this scene and throughout, among so many others responsible for the inimitable atmosphere and carefully designed shots.

That famous opening sequence is marred by unpleasantness, sadly: Welles loathed how Mancini’s score and the opening credits were imposed on top of it, and complained greatly about that. That was only the first part of an infamous memo largely ignored at the time (and for almost half a century) by Universal, who (as was almost always the case with Welles) re-edited it to their pleasure without consulting with the director. How much displeasure this wonderful movie undoubtedly brought to its writer-director-star; one can’t but compare him with Quinlan: a very great man who really had the best intentions but couldn’t find his place in the world. Luckily, Orson Welles never became a loser.

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Review

3:10 to Yuma

Director

Delmer Daves

Year

1957

Rating

Reviewed by

Gon Curiel a.k.a. Groucho

Review date

Tuesday, October 21, 2008

I can imagine several tense situations but a combination of the fear of a shot coming out of nowhere, a gang surrounding the premises, allies giving up, one of them, keeping his post, hung by the enemies, one’s honor at stake through a clear opportunity to cooperate, and only five minutes to realize a duty quite out of reach and meaning, most certainly, death, sounds like a hyperbole. Yet, that’s the kind of situation that rancher Dan Evans is faced with after volunteering to take outlaw Ben Wade to the 3:10 train leaving to Yuma where he’ll be imprisoned.

Evans’ wife convinced him to go see what he could do after he and his sons witnessed an atrocious stagecoach holdup where Wade killed cold-bloodedly those who got in his way. Since there’s pretty much nothing to do around the ranch given the drought that’s killing every chance of production, and perhaps even to breathe from his (surely) asphyxiating wife for a little while, he goes out to see what can be done. He only truly and wholeheartedly volunteers to help in a much more exposed way when he’s offered money. The only other man as desperate for money, however, is the town drunk, Alex Potter (Henry Jones), and that’s to get himself a few drinks, which is a similar motivation as Evans’, who wants to give a few drinks to his cattle.

As much as the hero is shown as being heroic with good human cause, so is the villain tempted into stupidity by the most clichéd and yet most valid temptation man has ever known: a pretty woman. He stays in town longer than he should because he falls for the pretty bartender at the saloon, Emmy (Felicia Farr), who’s as lonely and as pretty as can be—what a waste. Wade does his thing and Emmy is crazy for him, and they surely have a good time together because Wade looks almost pleased to be caught, as if it was worth it. He’s usually in good spirits, anyway. Though vicious, as we know he can get, he’s a good-humored chap. His smirk seems but is not always mocking, and it even looks like he would quit the criminal life if he found any other way to stay on top.

That’s proved when he’s stuck with Evans, who has to keep an eye on him at all times. Wade knows perfectly well that Evans is as flawed as he is, albeit in different ways, so he wastes no time trying to find out what makes him tick. There’s a very intense sequence where Wade is taken to Evans’ home to spend the night so as to confuse Wade’s gang who think he’s in a stagecoach on the way to Yuma and are very likely to hold that one up. During that fateful dinner, Wade plays Mr. Charming to the cold and tired Mrs. Evans (Leora Dana), and she’s more than pleased to hear a warm word. When Evans is enraged by jealousy, she seems over-pleased. That’s the kind of passion she was missing out on: a man who wants her and another who’s infuriated by it. She’s quite Evans’ woman, as she will prove later on (stupidly stepping into the most dangerous place possible towards the end of the film), but she needs, as we all do, a little reminder once in a while that there’s still desire and romance going on in the world and that some of it is for us.

Since that doesn’t do much for Evans in respect to Wade, however, it’s time for what’s usually much more useful when it comes to buying a man: money. Wade not only tries to buy Evans off, but he plays with the man’s weaknesses to prove that he won’t prove anything by keeping his post. Wade tries hard and constantly, and that game is what makes the film so powerful. Most of the best scenes happen inside a hotel room with only these two men waiting for the right time to leave and catch the train. The only soundtrack their conversation. They know Wade’s gang is gathering outside the place, and we know it too, and that’s all the background we need, even if we can’t see it. Glenn Ford and Van Heflin are vibrant as Wade and Evans respectively.

That those scenes are the best is not to say the climax isn’t tense and powerful on its own, because it is, as expected from such a fine western, but as it usually happens, a climax in a western is only the catharsis for what we have known of the characters’ psyches and struggles. Shot in striking black and white by Charles Lawton Jr. and framed by George Duning’s romantic score and title song (with lyrics by Ned Washington and sung by Frankie Laine), the action is quite breath-taking.

Indeed, the ending comes too easily, and everything seems to fall into place, but getting there has been much more a matter of self-discovery and personal fight than a question of firing and dodging bullets. It’s a beautiful metaphor of life by Elmore Leonard, who wrote this story for a pulp magazine, then adapted for the screen by Halsted Welles.

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Review

Oldboy

Director

Chan-wook Park

Year

2003

Rating

Reviewed by

Gon Curiel a.k.a. Groucho

Review date

Thursday, October 09, 2008

South Korean Park Chan-wook’s work is unique, you’ll never find elsewhere the look and feel he gives his motion pictures. He’s able to take any story and drive it towards the most gut-wrenching consequences possible so as to explore rarely visited nooks of the human realm. Dismembering such a guttural film like this is a tough job but one fully enriching. After the job has been done, one can’t but stare in awe at the fact that this is not so graphically violent after all, nor is it as gory or nasty or unpleasant as it can initially seem. Park Chan-wook plays with our minds, but it’s not that simple: the violence is mostly unseen, the deaths few, the blood unmoving, the weapons unused; the suffering is there aplenty however, suffering that goes beyond physical wounds, way farther than immediate pain, and much more marking than the scar left by the cruelest maiming. This is a story of unimaginable evil and its consequences. The story of…

Dae-su Oh. That’s the name of a no-good drunkard that misses his kid daughter’s birthday and is stuck in a police station where his behavior leaves much to be desired. He’s overweight, outspoken, abusive and nasty. We know, however, that at a future time he’ll be much different: a revenge-thirsty madman who looks much healthier than this obnoxious slob but is definitely way more affected. We can’t imagine how that will come to be; only a twisted mind could imagine, or cause it:

Dae-su is imprisoned for 15 years for no apparent reason, and he’s not told why, by whom, or for how long. As all isolated prisoners, he explores the treasures of the human mind in himself. His hotel-room-like cage is not all that unpleasant—if that can be said about any cage—since he’s got a television and a perfectly suited bathroom, and even something that looks like an open window but isn’t. He has 15 years to repent his sins, write a memoir and plan his escape. It can’t come too son. And it doesn’t come at all.

When he’s freed, it’s not by his own merits, at least not that he knows of. Again, adding to the impotence, there’s no explanation. His captors don’t face him. He’s left all alone. Surely, he’s happier than he was inside, but his life is driven by the desire to know, and the hunger for revenge, served cold—cliché, but so is revenge per se… or is it? I sustain that revenge is a poor motivator. In my own fictional stories, I always try to imagine someone seeking revenge and I always end up changing their driving forces because I can’t find in my characters the true will to dedicate many resources or much energy to revenge. I can’t complain about Oldboy in that regard and I gotta lower my head and raise my hat, because they did it: I fully believed this guy dedicated his free life to seek revenge, because what else was he to do? 15 years spent in prison without knowing why; I can’t find anything else to do afterwards, for a man who’s not only useless and surely insane, but also, and this is just to add a little topping in case anyone asked for it, wanted by the law! One other thing: this revenge is mixed with curiosity, and curiosity is the most powerful driving force in the universe, and I dare anyone to say the opposite. Curiosity, as we’ve been told, killed the cat, but it also did millions and millions of people who ate unknown fruits, went unexplored places, mixed dissimilar substances, and tried experimental cures. It does so every day, and people keep at it, because that’s our nature.

Dae-su lives a life unlike anyone else’s. He’s not up to anything conventional, and he knows it, but he doesn’t know why. His life hasn’t been one to fit any standards or definitions, so why should it be now? That’s probably why he’s not too agitated about a beautiful and famous chef, Mi-do, falling in love with him at first sight and taking him to her house no questions asked after he passes out for no reason, though that reason is probably that he ate a live octopus, which the actor did eat live by the way, causing much controversy amongst American critics, which is laughable.

What’s interesting is that we the audience don’t expect anything “normal” to happen to Dae-su; we know whatever goes on will be unconventional, even though we’re convinced, as he is, that whoever put him in that prison is deranged but had good reason, at least from his or her point of view. We’re dying to know the reason; we’re so into Dae-su that we’d do anything to turn back the time and spare him the suffering. The film leaves us with a tremendous void about that, because there’s no full redemption for the innocent victim that he is, but it doesn’t intend to give us a happy ending. After some analysis, I have deduced that the happy ending is that Dae-su is a much better person than he was before his imprisonment, and makes up for some of his mistakes, for instance giving much love to Mi-do, the kind of love he failed to give his daughter years before.

(Which reminds me of that old saying, “the best revenge is living well”, to which Jerry Seinfeld once added famously, “that probably wouldn’t kick it for Charles Bronson.” Sure, Death Wish wasn’t as metaphysical as Oldboy, but he’s got a point.)

Some images will surely never leave my mind: a recently imprisoned Dae-su begging for an explanation through the small hatch at the bottom of his “hotel room” door, and the one-shot sequence where he kicks the shit out of more than a few henchmen, a sequence most memorable which was enhanced by CGI only to correct a few punches, but not to simulate the continuous take that’s so impressive.

Cinematographically speaking, Oldboy is oustanding, though I did feel like the direction got in the way at times, making it all too dizzying; the story packed a wallop anyhow, so making the presentation so fancy was unnecessary at times, however, it has so much visual impact one can’t hardly complain. The music by Yeong-wook Jo is perfectly moving and suitable for the action scenes. The editing by Sang-Beom Kim is masterful.

Dae-su is played by Min-sik Choi in such a sensible way and covering so much ground, from insufferable to suffering to weak to joyful to shattered to contemplative, he’s unbelievable. Kudos to this over-talented actor. Two others are the perfect company for him: Hye-jeong Kang as Mi-do, his beloved, and Ji-tae Yu as the ever-smiling Woo-jin Lee, the mysterious man who sets up for Dae-su one diabolical game to play.

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Review

Eagle Eye

Director

D.J. Caruso

Year

2008

Rating

Reviewed by

José Ruiloba a.k.a. Morris

Review date

Wednesday, October 08, 2008

Here it comes, my first guilty pleasure of the year. I had heard almost nothing about Eagle Eye before seeing it, and when I came back home and surfed around I discovered it was mostly trashed by critics. That surprised me, for I expected at least someone to get into it the way I did. No luck; I’m mostly on my own and about to start defending it.

Jerry Shaw (Shia LaBeouf) is a no-gooder whose soldier twin brother just died when he receives a call from a female voice telling him to leave his apartment in 30 seconds for the FBI is about to arrest him. He doesn’t, and they take him. Rachel Holloman (Michelle Monaghan) is enjoying a night off while his son is on a trip for a recital when she receives a call asking her to get on a Porsche and drive. Both of them eventually end up together, following unpredictable directions that take them all the way to Washington while agent Thomas Morgan (Billy Bob Thornton) and agent Zoe Perez (Rosario Dawson) are on their trail.

D.J. Caruso directed from a screenplay by John Glenn, Travis Wright, Hillary Seitz and Dan McDermott. The movie was executive produced by Steven Spielberg, who reportedly came up with the idea for the story. Eagle Eye borrows a bit from Hitchcock, reminds you of 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968) and resonates with themes similar to WALL•E. Now, that’s big company to be associated with and even though it does not come close to reaching such grandeur it still uses all those elements to create its own world and make the most out of it.

Now, there’s no hiding the fact that this is one of the most preposterous, over-the-top and absurd movies I have ever seen, period. And I loved it! It is so mind-numbingly unreal that it is a breed of its own. Just because it doesn’t take place in the moon doesn’t mean that it can’t create its own earth-based reality and play with its own rules as it damn well likes. People are bothered by how far it goes; I enjoyed every step of the way. There’s something, someone, who can control just about any device that sends out a signal in the world. Ridiculous? Yes. Fascinating? You bet.

What ensues is a series of action sequences (some better than others) and non-stop chasing that kept me on the edge of my seat. I didn’t believe the main characters had a chance to die, but the way they were being played, got out of situations, faced incredible circumstances… it is a thrill-ride that proved to be perfect escapism. Best of all, the flick made perfect sense at the end within its own fictional realm. And it does a hell of a job trying to make it all seem possible, for the message it gives out is not that far away from where we are going, despite the means it uses to put it across.

I don’t know if a second viewing will be as enthralling as the first; this is one of those movies that are filled with adrenaline because of not knowing what’s coming next. All I can say is I had a blast while it lasted.

Shia LaBeouf is really good at this type of roles and this is no exception. I haven’t seen him in more serious movies but I get a sense that he’s got the chops. He plays the unlikely-action-hero role in a way that we can identify with, and his character also has a touching backstory that he handles pretty well. Michelle Monaghan is a great counterpart, while Billy Bob Thornton phones in his performance (not necessarily a bad thing here). Rosario Dawson, whom I love, has very little to do, although her presence is always welcomed. Michael Chiklis, Anthony Mackie, Ethan Embry, Cameron Boyce have supporting roles.

“She could turn a train into a talking duck if she wanted to.”

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Review

How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days

Director

Donald Petrie

Year

2003

Rating

Reviewed by

Gon Curiel a.k.a. Groucho

Review date

Tuesday, October 07, 2008

I would’ve never watched this, and only did so because my girlfriend insisted. No prejudice, though, it’s just that I already knew what it was about, how what it was about developed, and what the development led to. I was right about absolutely everything, it’s strictly push-the-buttons, paint-by-number, formulaic, predictable, disposable and clichéd entertainment. Also, it’s quite mean! But at the end of the day, it’s some fun. It’s comedy after all, albeit the dumbest kind. No mind required.

Let’s not get tough. They might break up with me. All right, the premise is clever: Andie (Kate Hudson) is a journalist who wants to prove that she can excel at causing any guy to break up with her by doing exactly what guys hate or fear, like invading his manly reunions, filling his bathroom cabinet with Tampax and nicknaming his penis a feminine name; she has the misfortune (or is it the other way around?) of picking Ben (Matthew McConaughey), a publicist who bets he can conquer any girl he wants by being exactly what women love. Neither knows about each other’s bet so you can guess what comes next:

A collection of excruciating situations where she pushes so hard it’s impossible not to hate her, while he’s so good to her it’s impossible not to pity him, while also hating him for being such a sissy. Truth be told, the situation is overall funny, but it makes the characters impossible to empathize with, because, for instance, how can anyone like a woman who gives such hell to an innocent man and seems to enjoy it, or with a man who fakes affection for a woman he actually hates?

There’s still no excuse, but it would’ve been great if they regretted or hated what they were doing, if she felt really sorry for the guy and wanted out of the experiment, if he fell in love with her and hated having to keep going against his better judgment but something kept telling him that she was the right one after all, but no, these yuppies have no connection to their feelings except when the story requires it, and that’s too late for us to care.

Oh, and it’s not only too late, but also too painful, when they finally connect to their feelings, after both have reached the point they wanted, don’t care anymore, and consider a happy ending… and then find out about each other’s bets. A musical number starring Marvin Hamlisch is so painful it easily constitutes Marvin’s worst participation in a movie, which is not hard since he’s given cinema so much. Then they sure as hell reject each other, hate each other, can’t be humble about their own faults, can’t figure out how hard it must have been for the other, and force an awkward conclusion that we simply don’t believe.

Kate Hudson is intolerable from start to finish and the situation described in the last paragraph makes it all the worse: she’s the one who’s most offended, even though, as we know, she’s really the one to fault. The script doesn’t help her and we can only like her looks, and not for long. Matthew McConaughey isn’t much help either, he plays the cool guy who talks like an idiot, and I frankly can’t see why any woman would fall for him. I guess the movie’s little world is as limited as its characters. Of course, that checks.

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Review

American Beauty

Director

Sam Mendes

Year

1999

Rating

Reviewed by

Gon Curiel a.k.a. Groucho

Review date

Thursday, October 02, 2008

American Beauty has the quality of portraying two things in an attractive, though clearly unreal, way: reality and rebellion. I have thought about this film for almost a decade now, I mean, it surely became an integral part of most moviegoers since 1999 or early 2000, and you can’t skip years of fine remembrance, which, it must be specified, has nothing to do with nostalgia, because this film has stayed with us, not in the past but in the present, in our everyday lives and in our recurrent experiences at the movies. I have thought about it a lot for the last, what’s it been, eight or nine years, and I have idolized its characters to the point where watching it again recently, after a few years of not doing so, disconcerted me when I realized these people were supposed to be commoners, the three central characters an average family with a past and a goal and happiness as the end of the ideal paths of each.

While Lester talked to his daughter in the kitchen early in the movie I was thinking, “Come on, man, this is you, Lester, what are you doing talking to your daughter in the sort of scene that I would star, as would my neighbor, my former classmate, my workmate, or even a few Hollywood stars, but definitely not you!” But then, right then, that scene was interrupted by a bizarre situation: the point of view of a neighbor video camera taping that scene from afar, in a way that isn’t as morbid as it is appreciative, where words don’t matter, only the beauty of the images, only the poignancy of human drama without getting into the specifics or caring about them, that being what makes it so special.

Well, that’s what makes American Beauty so special. It’s presumably filled with normal day-to-day situations, albeit comically mixed and taken to the extreme and timed precisely for screwball, thought it’s never treated as such, and yet we never feel like these events are anything but special, however, we don’t believe these characters to be different from us, but we understand the movie to be, like it’s from another world, like it has a reality of its own, with its own look and its own rules, and it works to perfection, makes us want to be inside, stay in there, and forget about our problems, even though in this story there’s nothing but problems, and they go as far as causing the disruption of a family and the death of the protagonist, which is announced from the start, and which is the one worst thing that can happen in a story where we grow to like the character so much.

But, then again, there’s a twist: that he dies is one of the most beautiful aspects of the story, not because we want to get rid of him, but because he has reached in a short time what he thought he would never achieve: content. He is, and we are, at peace when he dies, and every storyline, iniquitous though it may be, has reached a similar climax. What happens next is, we suppose, quite horrifying, and I hear it was even intended for the film to include a trial, but I’m glad they didn’t go that far, because as this macrocosm goes, it’s all full of success.

Perhaps after so many years and so many viewings I have come to question the story a bit. I have come to wonder if it’s really credible after all, if everything could be as easy as it seems, if anyone so carefree could pull it off, etc. I realized that’s in part what was bugging me about it, not the unconcluded plot, but the fact that it’s all so fantastic, so unattached to reality. We easily buy the world that has been created for the screen, but there comes a time for some people, as it did for me, when we have to wonder whether this film’s world really works. Not completely, I believe, not unless the universe, or rather the screenwriter, conspires to make it so. The balance is perfection, but sometimes artificially so. It’s all there because it aides the story, not quite because there’s any logic to it. I shouldn’t be thinking so much about logic and go with the flow once again, but I just wanted to point it out.

In America Beauty, everything is symmetrical or has a geometrical logic, the shots designed and executed by Conrad L. Hall with stunning precision and attractiveness, so stunning in fact that it’s not that stunning after all, it’s just perfect, as if it was meant to be. Another shockingly precise factor is Thomas Newman’s music, highly praised and with reason, for it has a state-of-the-art style that accompanies every mood by adding a sort of subtle commentary without actually interfering.

Like the tunes he uses in the hilarious fantasy scenes where Lester fantasizes with his daughter’s cheerleader friend (Mena Suvari) he has a crush with, the event that fires his rebellion, one so finely executed that it couldn’t have made him more likable. Kevin Spacey plays this man with such complacency that it’s hard not to feel his numbness, or rejoice at his awakening. His controlling wife is played by Annette Bening so powerfully that one of the hardest times the story has is while trying to convince us that she was once smooth and easy-going. Their daughter, Jane, is portrayed by Thora Birch in such a bored, annoyed fashion that she screams adolescence with every nuance, and she’s great. The neighbor she romances, the “freak” with the video camera, has actor Wes Bentley under his skin, also quite a triumph of emotional performing, saying so much with simple expressions; his father, the former U.S. Marine Col. Frank Fitts, is another of Chris Cooper’s unforgettable performances.

The script by Alan Ball is such a wicked jigsaw puzzle so perfectly put together that one can’t but wonder at his creative process. The way director Sam Mendes, in his film debut, translated it to the screen by orchestrating so much talent all around that it’s indeed a beauty-ridden spectacle. So much beauty on the screen. I feel like I can’t take it.

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Review

Road to Perdition

Director

Sam Mendes

Year

2002

Rating

Reviewed by

José Ruiloba a.k.a. Morris

Review date

Wednesday, October 01, 2008

I revere American Beauty (1999), a movie I consider a classic and which was directed by the great Sam Mendes. That was actually his first movie, which made him some kind of genius in my book. The thought of his second outing not living up to expectations was scary, but Road to Perdition actually came to solidify his status as one of the best working directors out there. Like Hitchcock and Wilder and so many more this is a guy I wish would keep making movies forever.

The story takes place in Depression Era’s Chicago. Michael Sullivan Jr. (Tyler Hoechlin) watches his world stumble as he discovers the real profession of his father Michael (Tom Hanks), a hit man who has always worked for John Rooney (Paul Newman), the Godfather-like mobster who helped him when he had nothing. A father-son relationship grew between them, something Rooney’s real son Connor (Daniel Craig) always resented.

The movie was based on the graphic novel by Max Allan Collins and Richard Piers Rayner. It was translated in a more subtle way to the screen by Mendes and writer David Self. It is violent all right, but they decided to stick with the emotional roots at the core of the story. Therein lies its greatness.

There’s a lot of pleasure to be had with an old-fashioned movie that works. Sam Mendes was smart enough to know the best way to tell his story was by taking its time. The way the camera pans from one place to another, the way it slowly moves at the same rhythm as the scene unravels, the way the pace is so deliberately slow in an elegant and classy way. This is a movie in which each scene actually leads to another in more ways than just trying to move the story forward. Each line, each view, it’s all there for a reason.

There’s something really poignant in a story about fathers defending their least favorite sons. Both John and Michael are faced with such a situation and they can do nothing to prevent it. There’s something really sad about the way John starts to look worse and worse while awaiting for the fatal moment in which he might be told of the bad news regarding his protégé’s death. There’s also something really sad at the notion of Michael wanting a better life for his son, a life he couldn’t really give him, because it is now that he’s finally getting to know his own blood.

It is a sad story indeed, one that is filled with irony and sentiment. It is also a story about loyalty, about honor and about dreams. But it is most of all a story about bonding, and the way it unfolds feels like poetry. As gangsters movies go, Road to Perdition is remarkable. But as far as human dramas do, it is more than that.

Conrad L. Hall’s photography is mesmerizing. I am not exaggerating when I call it one of the most beautifully photographed movies ever made. Exquisite production design and a great score from Thomas Newman just add to the enormity of it all.

Memorable scenes include an encounter between assassin Harlen Maguire (Jude Law) and Sullivan at a highway restaurant, a musical moment between John and Michael, a very stylish shoot-out scene near the end and the best of all, the basement scene between a torn father and a hurt son.

Part of Mendes’s dazzling ability is the way he gets such outstanding performances out of his actors. I have not enough words to convey the strength of Paul Newman’s performance. He’s the father, the grandfather, the rock. And he’s a perfect match to Tom Hanks’s more restrained, yet equally cold-blooded character; a far stretch for an actor usually known for very different kinds of roles. Jude Law, in his brief appearance, steals the show. And Daniel Craig also delivers a strong performance. Last but not least there’s young Tyler Hoechlin, who stands his own against actors of such pedigree and still makes himself noticed. Jennifer Jason Leigh, Liam Aiken and Ciarán Hinds also appear.

“And there is only one guarantee: none of us will see heaven.”

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