Friday, June 16, 2017

47 Meters Down ★

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    Here is the plot of "47 Meters Down," this summer's annual shark-infested thriller, in a nutshell: Two siblings, Lisa and Kate, embark on a fun-filled trip to Mexico in order to overcome life's mundane tendencies and messy breakups. (In essence, one's a nervous Nellie, and one has trouble saying "No." I'll let you guess which is which.) After a drunken night out with a pair of potential suitors, our threadbare protagonists elect to take on shark cage diving, the latest craze among the thrill-seeking crowd. Once underwater, something goes awry—as the title implies, they become trapped "47 meters down"—and we're left with roughly 60 minutes of plodding suspense and pointless maneuvering. The uneventful score, composed by Thomas Hajdu and Andy Milburn (a Princeton duo widely known as "tomandandy"), is mechanical and useless, and the principal characters, portrayed by Mandy Moore and Claire Holt, are nothing short of moronic. (Forgive me for being blunt, but I've seen enough dumbed-down female personas to last a lifetime. Case in point: While gearing up for their initial dive, one of the simple-minded sisters, it doesn't matter who, quickly progresses from a petrified state to one in which she asks the other, "Does my butt look cute in this?" These actresses deserve better, and so do we.) I promise you this—by the film's end, you'll be rooting for the sharks.

    It's pretty clear where this half-hearted production pinned all of its hopes: on the allure and pull of its two leading ladies. (I'm trying to remember the last time Moore starred in a live-action setting, and Holt, God bless her, couldn't muster a line of dialogue with any sort of conviction even if she wanted to.) Granted, they both should receive credit for enduring the physical demands required of the roles, yet muffled screams and incessant hyperventilating aren't exactly attributes of an Oscar-worthy performance. It comes with the territory, or in this instance, the subject matter. Moreover, director Johannes Roberts and underwater cinematographer Mark Silk frequently swap disheveled camera angles for substance, and this creates an ambiance completely devoid of terror and emotional intensity. Although close-ups abound—the majority of which focus on the panic-stricken eyes of our daring yet doltish heroines—the best shots simply went unused. (It would help to have an editor who understood the principles of continuity editing.) Sadly, we're never given a reason to fear these notorious predators, except, of course, for their reputations and past on-screen appearances. Spoiler alert: The ill-famed antagonists are rarely seen until the climax of the film, and their long-awaited arrival is upstaged by a script that is inherently misguided, and above all, it evinces inexperience. Evidently, the writers thought it would be wise to rob Moore's character of her defining moment for a plot twist that is about as foolish as it is gutsy, and this injudicious move only gives substance to the stance that risk-taking doesn't always translate to success in cinema. (You know, it's one of those endings where a reverie is confused for reality in an effort to shock and startle audiences; I have to say that it wasn't very effective.)

    I can't believe Hollywood is still churning out these tacky, stale pictures. (As one would expect, revenue remains the chief incentive, yet there has to be a limit on these shark attack movies, which are bordering on unwatchable.) I mean, Steven Spielberg's "Jaws" actually meant something, and "47 Meters Down" can be dubbed the fast-food variety of the genre. For reasons I cannot fathom, the viewing public continues to have an eternal fascination for these flaccid, watered-down productions—"Shark Week" will even hit theaters for a one-night event next month. I hate to be the bearer of bad news (on the contrary, I enjoy it immensely), but all this fear and trembling at the hands of these predaceous creatures is entirely ungrounded. As a matter of fact, here are a few nuggets I found while researching the film's misunderstood villains: 

    (1) As reported by The Washington Post, on average, 28 people were killed each year from 2001 to 2013 by man's best friend. How many died as a result of a shark attack? Well, if you round to the nearest whole number, sharks killed about one individual per year during this span. 

    (2) More importantly, however, according to the Shark Research Institute, 100 million sharks are slain every single year by humankind, and yet we're frightened to death of this predominantly fabricated evil. 

    Now, I understand the method behind the madness, but movies such as "47 Meters Down," regardless of content, aren't worthy of our attention—to sum it up with a few choice words, it's just not interesting writing. And so, in the opinion of this critic, save your precious time and avoid this piffle as if it were the plague. 

Friday, February 10, 2017

Fifty Shades Darker

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    Review coming soon.

Thursday, January 12, 2017

Monster Trucks ★1/2

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    Paramount's latest debacle entitled "Monster Trucks," a movie about a young man who befriends an unusual creature that is keenly adept in the art of truck driving, should serve as a reminder of how half-baked ideas seldom give way to box-office greatness. (It should also provide hope for every wannabe screenwriter in the greater Los Angeles area—if Paramount considers the plot of "Monster Trucks" to be worthy of development, then anything is possible.) This action comedy, which is painfully purposed for the youngest of viewing audiences, may have an appealing cast with genuine promise, yet I could never heap praise on a picture whose main attraction is a giant squid. (In truth, Creech, as the beast is called, is more of a cross between an octopus and a whale; nevertheless, there doesn't seem to be much room for marketability.) And I thought E.T. was repugnant.

    Tripp (Lucas Till) is an ambitious North Dakotan teen who desires to leave his hometown in search of bigger and better things. (The movie implies that it is the dullness of the surrounding countryside that fuels this inclination, and this is not only a slight to the residents of North Dakota, but it's a poor excuse for a motivating force.) Meanwhile, Terravex Energy, which is plainly a representation of Big Oil, hits trouble on a nearby fracking operation when it unleashes three subterranean creatures, one of them being the likable yet repulsive Creech. Eventually, Tripp and Creech happen upon each other, and from this point forward, the feature blossoms into a full-fledged chase film with enough meaningless drivel to make any contemporary of mine sick with boredom. (As for me, I'm afraid that I've become accustomed to these one-dimensional productions, which are slowly becoming the standard in Hollywood.) The only thing worse than the simplistic storyline is the manufactured villains, which, believe it or not, includes a Terravex bounty hunter by the name of Burke (Holt McCallany).

    "Monster Trucks" has all the makings of a Steven Spielberg adventure: there's the troubled teenager with parental issues, the presence of a human-unearthly bond, as well as a conflict stemming from a corrupt corporation, but nothing can subdue the elephant in the room—that being, the unattractiveness of the material. In fact, this is what I like to call a "step back" film, as all parties involved showed signs of regression in their particular filmmaking positions. (It also gives our screenwriter and director an opportunity to view their work objectively, which I'm sure will be a harrowing experience.) Filmmaker Chris Wedge, who's mostly known for his role in several animated successes, shows his competence behind the scenes in what becomes his live-action debut, yet sweeping camera movements and nifty boom shots cannot divert one's attention from the disastrous dialogue that propels the script. (Take away the subtheme concerned with environmentalism, and you have a screenplay that could have been written by any imaginative child or film school dropout.)

    I'm saddened to see budding actress Jane Levy and up-and-coming actor Lucas Till in such abysmal working conditions—quite honestly, they hardly stood a chance. (Levy is as charming and capable as they come; Till, if given the proper nutriment, could become the next Marvel Avenger.) Unfortunately for them, neither star looks or sounds the part—they play a pair of teenagers even though they're clearly much older—and their passionless performances can be chalked up to a bad case of casting fever. (Meaning, they were chosen for their popularity as opposed to their fitting the characters.) Young actors take heed: Sometimes, one must forgo a paycheck in favor of what's suitable, which the latter is more conducive to long-term success.

    Film criticism is a paradoxical profession—this has been the theme of much of my work—and pictures like "Monster Trucks" only prove this notion. On the one hand, the movie's climax is thoroughly engaging, and you'd be hard pressed to find a more jovial conclusion. And yet, where is the lasting value? Where's the significance? (These are rhetorical questions, mind you, but they still touch on the complications associated with film commentary—should we regard the medium strictly as escapism or evaluate it as an art form? There's also the question of whether or not a children's picture should be graded on a different scale (less stringent), but that is neither here nor there. The intent is key no matter the profundity.) Oftentimes, I must decide if I am to give a film, whose aim is that of amusement, a pass for its superficiality or condemn it for the same reasons. (Hence, the contradictory nature of the craft.) In many cases, subjectivity will inevitably rear its head; this is one of those instances. Needless to say, "Monster Trucks" just isn't very good.

Friday, September 16, 2016

Blair Witch - Zero Stars

Blair Witch Movie Review

    Much like "The Forest," a 2016 horror movie that relies heavily on its macabre setting to spur success, "Blair Witch" takes audiences into the Black Hills Forest of Maryland where it proceeds to bore and benumb, and I couldn't help but feel as if I'd seen this rodeo before. (Perhaps that is because this sequel to "The Blair Witch Project" functions more or less as a rebootit not only resembles the fictitious documentary in terms of its story and structure, but it attempts to frighten viewers with the same uninvolving and predictable plot devices.) The formula here is simple: build up a small amount of suspense until there's about a half hour of running time left in the picture, and then pummel moviegoers with an inordinate number of jump scares and grotesque images in the hopes that at least one audience member's blood curdles. Not to sound too harsh, but I hated this movie.

    The storyline goes something like thisJames Donahue (James Allen McCune), a younger sibling to one of the missing hikers from the first film, stumbles upon some video evidence that suggests his older sister may be alive. (Although it has been 20 years since her disappearance, and despite the fact that the FBI scoured the area with little confirmation of her survival, our impressionable protagonist believes there is still hope. To be fair, the FBI never found D.B. Cooper, either.) Donahue recruits a couple of poor saps to aid him in his search (this includes a childhood friend named Peter (Brandon Scott), an aspiring filmmaker in Lisa (Callie Hernandez), and two locals who are obsessed with the Blair Witch legend), and before you know it, the horror flick becomes a carbon copy of the original minus the ingenuity. In layman's terms, the motivation for this particular venture into the woods is dissimilar, yet the happenings that take place are all too familiar.

    Sure, there are several different subjective viewpoints this time around (each character has his or her own filming device), and there are a handful of pulse-pounding moments that might stir up some frightful feelings, but one has to see the bigger picture. (I rarely award a movie zero stars; it is the lack of inherent value, I think, that brings about this rather unenthusiastic assessment. And you know, sometimes you have to send a message.) Of course, there is nothing structurally significant about this film, and outside of a gripping performance by Hernandez, the acting seems to be bumbling at best. Let's call a spade a spade"Blair Witch" is offensively banal and bromidic, and Lionsgate should be ashamed of themselves for this obvious money-grabbing effort.

    Part of the problem is that there is no accountability when it comes to films of this magnitude; I could never blame the actors or filmmakers for their involvement. (It's hard enough getting work in Hollywood as it is, and you've got to take what you can get.) This is simply a blatant attempt to repackage a prior success and sell it as if it were something that it's notunique and worthwhile. I mean, it is "The Blair Witch Project" just refinished and with less inventiveness. Case in point: Screenwriter Simon Barrett is on record stating that his participation in this collusion merely consisted of the crafting of one or two minor characters, and he was basically given a synopsis that mirrored the first script. (Perchance the protagonists could have been a tad more interesting.) Even if "Blair Witch" bombs at the box office, the consequences will surely not be felt. For, Lionsgate has a multitude of profitable products, so what's the big deal if one doesn't perform up to par? It's low-risk filmmaking at its finest, and that, folks, is the real issue.

    In the meantime, can we not put an end to the found-footage film? Clearly, the horror genre has used up all of the allure attached to these kinds of movies, and the camerawork involved could be pulled off by any regular Bob Burns. Which brings me to my follow-up question: Are we ever going to get back to true terror in cinema? Today's horror selections are visibly plagued by an inadequate amount of suspense, and if the truth be known, they also seem to suffer from poor scriptwriting and acting that is by all accounts dreadful. I know I've said a variation of this before, but filmmakers such as Alfred Hitchcock or even Wes Craven (bless his soul) are not walking through that door. At this very late hour, the horror genre is undoubtedly ailing, and it is going to take more than a heavy dose of jump scares and shaky camera movements to generate something of a worthy offering. One can only trust that next time Lionsgate will spare us all and forget to pull the trigger.

Friday, June 3, 2016

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: Out of the Shadows ★

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    "Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: Out of the Shadows" would almost be a quality picture if it weren't for the undeniable and overwhelming sense of incompetence that surrounds its production. Director Dave Green (who brought us the pedestrian and apathetic "Earth to Echo") and writers Josh Appelbaum and André Nemec pay homage to a sizable portion of "Turtles" lore (this includes the live-action films as well as the original animated program), and yet they still cannot comprehend what makes these four heroes so lovable in the first place. Have they no feel for cinema? This is a franchise that desperately needs to recede from public view and fast.

    But that's the troubling part, isn't it? No matter how brain dead the movie, audiences will continue to flock toward it like moths to a flame. You don't have to be educated in film technique or theory to know that this is a poor exercise in filmmaking.

    Ironically, it is not the subject matter here that exudes culpability. (The plot-oriented mentality of the picture appears to be one of the few saving graces; the story, although lacking in profundity, is viable.) No, what troubles "Out of the Shadows" are a fistful of performances that come off as completely untextured and an inane display of dialogue that becomes so mind-numbingly dumb and manufactured that one can almost foresee any succeeding spoken line. (The majority of the latter comes directly from our sole leading lady in Megan Fox who, I think, has lost every ounce of her box-office appealI'm sure that 14-year-old boys still consider the young actress to be an ideal example of chewing gum for the eyes, yet her dumbed-down approach to acting has finally run its course.) 

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    The rundown: After failing to annihilate the citizens of New York City and after plans for global domination were predictably derailed, the diabolical Shredder once again finds himself in a position to take over the world. (What else are bad guys supposed to do, anyhow?) He enlists the help of Baxter Stockman (Tyler Perry), a mad scientist obsessed with historical fame and destruction, and the ever-blundering Bebop and Rocksteady, and this inevitably leads to an unfavorable, repetitive use of situational ironyour cold-blooded protagonists fail to mar even a single villainous plotting, that is, of course, until the short-lived and stodgy climactic sceneand to several action sequences consisting entirely of extravagant explosions and over-the-top special effects à la Michael Bay.

    April O'Neil meddles, Leonardo and Raphael inescapably quarrel and appearances by Casey Jones and the evil Krang only remind us of the franchise's finer efforts. (Although "Turtle" fanatics might swoon over the inclusion of these beloved characterizations, the wonderment affixed to such dealings can never detract attention from the film's second-rate air.)

    Be that as it may, it's not all doom and gloom when it comes to this latest "Turtles" installment: The minimalized approach to the designs of the characters (specifically the Shredder, who went from an oversized can opener to a convincing villain here) is a nice adjustment from the first film; the fast-paced action of the diegesis does well to disguise the picture's more dismaying aspects. Essentially, it is a comedic undertone and the inability to cash in on a theme concerned with acceptance that ultimately makes "Out of the Shadows" a deplorable addition to what can be considered a washed-up franchise at this point. (The film is obviously too comical for its own goodAs for the theme, we are routinely bombarded with conversations and motifs regarding the turtles' wish to be socially accepted, yet when the opportunity presents itself, the picture decides to neglect its message in favor of, well, nothing really.)

    Here is a franchise that needs to regroup. The original feature portraying these "Heroes in a Half Shell" succeeded because of its poignancy, and those four reptiles actually had miens that were as fetching as they were spot on. My bet is that if this spirit were to be rekindled, then I'm sure we would have a product worth rooting for.

    When the smoke clears, "Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: Out of the Shadows" will simply become another summer box-office smash, and, unfortunately, some will see it purely as mindless entertainment. So, why the harsh criticism? I mean, the film doesn't pretend to be what it isn't (this is a phrase I've used generously over the years), and some would say that it entertains more often than not. Even vapid entertainment should have some defining characteristics about it, and it is this deficiency that must be corrected if these "Turtles" ever plan on returning to their glory days.

Wednesday, May 18, 2016

The Angry Birds Movie ★★

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    In what is the second animated feature this year to display a dearth of ingenuity (the remarkably pathetic "Norm of the North" being the first), "The Angry Birds Movie" hits theaters this weekend with little anticipation, and its existence really only calls attention to the lack of imagination that now beleaguers every children's film in production—I'd call it a case of pestilence, yet I think it has more to do with incompetence than actual malady. (Unless, of course, one considers stupidity to be a shining example of affliction.) These flightless feathered friends are quite personable—there is no denying it—but charisma can only do so much. If anything, it is a middling script that grounds these "Angry Birds," and screenwriter Jon Vitti, a man who has contributed to the likes of "The Simpsons" and "The Critic," should receive a heap of the blame. I don't mean to be impertinent, but I expected more from a Harvard graduate.  

    Red (Jason Sudeikis), a cynical and quick-tempered fowl, is finding difficulty fitting in on Bird Island, the reclusive home to these "Angry Birds" and a debatable microcosm of our very own half-witted society. It's not that Red is socially awkward or exceptional in any way—he's simply averse to conformity. (While others indulge in yoga sessions and froyo binges, our uncongenial protagonist lives a life of solitude and disenchantment. All things considered, this sounds like my kind of bird.) This misanthropic demeanor eventually results in Red having to take compulsory anger management courses along with Bomb (Danny McBride) and Chuck (Josh Gad), two offbeat rejects who have everything in common with our chief character except one thing: They actually aspire to be accepted. (If you happen to find this plot summary a bit tedious, then I implore you for your patience. You see, there isn't much else to discuss.)

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    The rest of the picture plays out as a persistent and vexing bad pun (Vitti's wordplay is childish and empty, though you have to give credit for the crafty usage of "cardinal sin"), and our writer even shows us his ribald humor by including quips that refer to men's testicles as "giblets." Why am I sharing this? Well, I hope to notify you of the film's rebarbative and off-putting sense of self; perhaps I can safeguard a few small children from mental scarring in the process. As for the conflict, a horde of brightly green-colored pigs arrive on the island in a manner that evokes the colonization of the early Americas, and in predictable fashion, it is up to our petulant hero to save the day. (Not only does the climax ooze of predictability, but it fails to conjure up a single moment of suspense. Color me not surprised.) 

    All in all, this dutiful effort hints at two things: (1) It proves that a superb showing in the voice acting and art departments cannot overcome a script that doles out more idiocy than intrigue. (2) It also suggests the fruitlessness of the source material. The apps, which are far more fascinating than some spiritless screen adaptation, clearly have a longer shelf life, and "The Angry Birds Movie" will sputter on as a bonafide demonstration of ineptitude at its finest. (It is the movie's mixed messages that make it difficult to award merit—for instance, the film comments on the dangers of conformity and the elation associated with inclusiveness, yet these contradictory statements only complicate matters further.) This botched attempt at satire deserves about as much praise as any video game-based film, and that would be next to nothing.

    I'm beginning to understand why the Disney corporation cleans up every year at the Golden Globes and Academy Awards. For, the competition is weak and altogether undeserving. (With the exception of DreamWorks Animation's "How to Train Your Dragon" franchise, Disney should have little cause for concern.) Now, I've given this issue some considerable thought, and all I can say is that there seems to be a disconnect amongst the interests of today's youth and quality entertainment. (Godawful writing also plays its part, yet one cannot ignore the forgettable fads and fixations in which our children are exposed to year after year.) After a while, this merry-go-round of poorly produced films intended for a juvenile audience becomes tiresome, and I'm not sure if there is a feasible solution or savior in sight. If only Don Bluth were 30 years younger and primed to make a run at Best Animated Feature.

Friday, April 15, 2016

The Jungle Book ★★1/2

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    My primary concern when it comes to "The Jungle Book," Disney's latest live-action presentation of a previously animated success, is with its shortage of spirit, or to be more specific, its cookie-cutter feel. Sure, it is visually stunning and a brilliant illustration of eye candy in its finest form, and, yes, it almost certainly follows the events of the original animated classic and Rudyard Kipling's novel to a T (sans two notable subplots involving an adolescent elephant and what can be deemed a "Beatles" inspired vulture trioalthough they make a reinvented appearance, their value is virtually nonexistent); nevertheless, I couldn't help but see the film for what it really is: a CGI-injected and ineffectually infused product with an aura that cannot outwit its artificiality. It has many more miscalculations than it does musings, and this "Jungle Book," for lack of a better description, is quite jejune.

    Director Jon Favreau ("Elf," "Iron Man," and "Cowboys & Aliens") knows how to produce a savvy and engaging picture, but that is plainly not the issue here. In this instance, I would say that the film's shortcomings can be directly ascribed to a script that is not only subpar, but it is truly brimming with an exorbitant amount of inexperience. I mean, the most important aspect of this coming-of-age tale (that being, Mowgli's acceptance of humanity) is heedlessly thrown to the wind; the tone of the picture can never find its footing, as many dark and dreary moments are offset by a handful of musical numbers that do more harm than good; and, much to my dismay, the character of Mowgli seems to have lost every bit of his rambunctiousness. (This is not to mention several unflattering examples of low-brow humor that include the ever-scintillating pee joke and a sexual jest that is clearly on the wrong side of excessive.) As much as I would like to applaud this attempt to arouse a sense of wonder, I will not forgive such failings.

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    There is no doubt about it: "The Jungle Book" is a visual extravaganza built to spellbind audiences with its staggering use of computer-generated imagery and photorealistic rendering, and, in turn, this produces an environment that is nothing short of sensational. Our animal counterparts even have this sense of magic about them as they become larger than life, physically speaking, and as they commit to dialogue that is as genuine as it is conceivable. And yet, what are we actually commending here? Although this film obviously takes pride in its appearance, there is nothing new or innovative about its visual execution, and I have half a mind to believe that an on-location filming session would have given rise to many of the same results. (I'm sure that the studio was chosen for its convenience and for its undemanding nature, but practicability is not always an avenue for success.)

    Surprisingly, even the casting choices come off as clumsy to some degree. It is true that Idris Elba is unquestionably menacing as the antagonistical Shere Khan, and Scarlett Johansson is explicitly the best of the bunch. (Although ephemeral, Johansson's seductive and sultry rendition of Kaa tends to evoke John Milton's serpent time and again.) With that being said, however, Ben Kingsley and Bill Murray (who voice the lovable personas of Bagheera and Baloo, respectively) seem to be just running through the motions, and Christopher Walken's King Louie, although cinematically treated in the same light as Marlon Brando's Colonel Kurtz from the timeless "Apocalypse Now," is downright laughable. (Walken's Brooklyn accent is distracting and entirely unwarranted here.) As for the leading, tangible star and solo live performer in Neel Sethi, I've never seen a more unconvincing performance from a child actor before. "Jungle Book" is Sethi's first Hollywood role to date, and with all due respect, it was hard not to notice. (In retrospect, I believe it was his passive approach to the character that marred an already monotonous outing.) Of course, as regrettable as it may be, Sethi's inadequacies could ultimately be a ramification of the production's prosaic mentality.  

     And this is the problem with the movie industry today. If I've said it once, well, I've said it a thousand times. It's all become flat out spectacle, so to speak, with little to no depth. Audiences (and many of my contemporaries for that matter) will surely admire the film's more immersive moments; as troublesome as that fact is, I'm more concerned about the individual's capacity to sit down and view a picture devoid of such conventions. Naturally, I've praised the use of special effects in the past, and I'm positive that I will do so in the future. Yet, in how many ways can one express admiration for the 3D platform before it ineluctably becomes nettlesome? (The sense of visual depth that it provides is nothing more than a commonplace illusion, and if you were to ask me, I'd consider it a cheap trick.)

    "The Jungle Book" is by no means a bad film. It's just the phrase "Prepare to be wowed" never came to mind, and to say that the picture captured that "Old Hollywood" feel would simply be a harebrained sentiment. Now, Favreau is on record stating that his intention was to transport audiences to a magical realm comparable to that of James Cameron's "Avatar," and this, in my estimation, was the biggest error of judgment. For, "Avatar" had a fictional ambiance like no other, and the setting of "The Jungle Book" is wholly observable in our nonfictional reality. I'm afraid that Favreau may have forgotten just how beautiful existing Mother Nature can be.  

Friday, March 25, 2016

Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice ★★

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    Dear faithful reader: I regret to inform you of this rather unfortunate fact, but as your reporter, I'm afraid that it is my responsibility to do so. (In truth, it's wholly necessary.) "Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice" is not only an inferior specimen of filmmaking, but it is sincerely one of the most bloated and shallow superhero films that I can remember—it's large-scale entertainment with little grit and a whole lotta spectacle. "The greatest gladiator match in the history of the world," as our terribly miscast antagonist aptly puts it, can never live up to the hype in which it so effortlessly created, and the entire thing reeks of bad choices and even poorer pre-production decision making. (This would be in reference to a script that is as addlebrained as it is tone deaf and to a miscasting that places an extensive burden on the picture.) But there's a sleek new Batsuit and Batmobile, so I guess we're supposed to jump for joy.

     After a decisive showdown between Superman (Henry Cavill) and General Zod that leaves the city of Metropolis in utter ruination, the "Caped Crusader" (more famously referred to as Batman) begins to see the all-powerful superhero in a new light: That is, he now sees him as a direct threat to humanity. More importantly, however, Capital Hill and the public also join in on the bashing and defamation of the "Man of Tomorrow," and it is this rift that primarily fuels the childish conflict betwixt the two heroes—Batman's utilitarian mindset (you know, the frame of mind that holds the greatest happiness of the greatest number as its guiding principle) leads him to a handful of rash conclusions, and Superman, well, he resorts to finger-pointing and does very little to atone for past mistakes. (Essentially, our "Man of Steel" gets the short end of the stick.)

    Then there is Jesse Eisenberg's Lex Luthor, a character who is known for his cold and calculated comportment and antipathy for "The Last Son of Krypton." Eisenberg's zany take on this persona is beyond preposterous, and it just goes to show how important casting judgments can be. (In a manner of speaking, Eisenberg would have made a terrific Batman villain, presumably a Joker or Riddler type of personality, but his interpretation of Luthor is undeniably suspect, and it's not very convincing.) Additionally, a Lois Lane subplot never really gains traction—mostly because it is moronic and because it adds relatively nothing to the overall narrative—and the film relies much too heavily on philosophical inquiries and thematic checks that it can't cash. In short, it felt as if I was sitting through a Philosophy 101 course without the stimulating subject matter. The picture attempts to examine issues of ethics and morality, yet these esoteric topics are hard to engage once escapism becomes the desired end.

    What's worse is the fact that both heroes deal in what I would regard as foolish absolutes, and this is something that irks me to the core of my being. Batman claims that "If we believe there's even a one percent chance that he is our enemy, we have to take it as an absolute certainty" when discussing the newly discovered threat posed by the "Metropolis Marvel"; Superman asserts that he will have to convince "The Dark Knight" to assist him or else he must kill him. (I wonder if the filmmakers, and especially David S. Goyer who helped pen the script, realize just how dumb this makes their characters sound.) Tack on an unavailing apocalyptic dream sequence, a Batmobile chase scene that is relentlessly loud and banal, and a climax that places every asset in a position to fail, and the end result is a movie that's simply ill-considered.

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    And what about the inessential physical confrontation between our two testosterone-toting superheroes? Not to waste much space here, but if you were expecting anything in the realm of impressive, then I'm afraid that dissatisfaction will prove inevitable. For, the short-lived, CGI-driven fight scene falls short of any real expectations one should have for this climactic battle, and even though the film desperately tries to coax us into believing it is fundamentally necessary, the whole dustup seems to be unmotivated and uninspired. (If I were to be blunt, I'd say that it was blatantly fatuous.) As it so happens, I had to hold in a chuckle or two during the heroes' first encounter, and I can only describe the scene as glaringly farcical.

    Ben Affleck is quite the enigma, isn't he? I mean, here is an actor who broke into Hollywood in a maverick kind of way (he won an Academy Award for co-writing "Good Will Hunting"), and yet most of his career has been bedeviled by bad scripts, bad publicity, and if I am to be brutally honest, bad acting. I've always said that Affleck makes for a great personality actor, maybe even an interpreter, but he has rarely crossed the threshold that would see him as a top-tier talent, and his proficiency behind the camera has far overshadowed his acting ability in recent years.

    Nevertheless, Affleck's rugged portrayal of Batman in "Dawn of Justice" is polished and well done, and I was even more amazed by his personation of the character of Bruce Wayne. (I wish that I could be as complimentary of Cavill as the "Man of Steel," yet it is clear that Cavill adopted the "outside only" approach to acting when preparing for the role, and it is his lack of zeal that underscores what is largely a lifeless exhibition.) Correct me if I am wrong, but the beautiful and very skilled Gal Gadot as Wonder Woman may just be the most agreeable performance of them all.

    The troubling thing about "Batman v Superman" is that it has all the bells and whistles and no substance. Director Zack Snyder ("Watchmen," "Sucker Punch," and "Man of Steel") tries his darndest to inject the picture with some hint of emotion, but his efforts merely come off as contrived and forced, and the entire endeavor can best be described as a kid in a candy store type of offering. (Snyder utilizes both film and digital technology and makes use of color and light-diffusing filtersor some other technique to achieve the sought-after resultsbut what does this add to the savorless storyline? Not that it's any of my business, but I think Synder should become familiar with the "less is more" aphorism.)

    We tend to criticize these movies for being too predictable and formulaic, and although "Dawn of Justice" attempts to deviate from the conventional superhero path, it's all fairly ineffective. And you know, it is films like these that make one yearn for the days when the affairs of superheroes remained somewhat unnoticed by the political sphere; I think we've all had enough of the silly news flashes that may or may not incorporate television personalities such as Nancy Grace and Anderson Cooper. It might have worked in Nolan's "Dark Knight" trilogy, which Goyer also helped pen, but here it is just plain insufferable. (Of course, this practice is quite standard, yet it is something that has become problematic over the years.) I've mostly found superhero films to be enjoyable, but watch out for when Capitol Hill gets involved.  

Friday, March 4, 2016

Zootopia ★★★

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    Is it just me, or are Disney films becoming less magical and proportionally more preachy? Or, shall I say, increasingly self-righteous? Every picture produced by the megacorporation in recent memory seems to emit this sanctimonious attitude, and although they appear to have good intentions, this is something that we should not take lightly. (If this were the Golden Age of Hollywood, these types of productions would assuredly be viewed as "preachment yarns," which is basically a euphemism for propaganda.)

    Don't get me wrong. I am never one to bemoan the manufacturing of a moral implication or social problem film. (On the contrary, I undoubtedly have a fondness for these kinds of movies, and I support their existence and continuation indefinitely.) It's just nothing's subtle anymore. It used to be children could view an animated picture without being bombarded by deliberately instructional dialogue and language that would have even a man of the cloth begging for mercy; they used to have to work for the theme. Did "Dumbo" pound its audience with barefaced motifs in an effort to convey its central concern? It did not, nor did it have to.

    A message to the reader: If you are solely searching for a recommendation, then here it is"Zootopia" is truly a riveting film; I'm sure that adolescents will enjoy it immensely. If you wish to delve deeper into matters, then I suggest that you continue reading.

    On the surface of things, "Zootopia" or "Zootropolis" if you live in Europe, the former also being the name of the modernistic, mammalian melting pot utopia that is our setting, is a winsome little movie that centers around the life of Judy Hopps (Ginnifer Goodwin), a bunny who has reveries of becoming an officer of the law. She is small in stature and cute as a button, and this doubtlessly leads to some minor prejudices and to countless moments of individual success.

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    And then the film (almost expectantly) begins to transition into this allegorical, satirical narrative that is decidedly anti-prejudice, anti-stereotyping, and anti-sexist before it inevitably settles on a buddy cop storyline that is clearly more charming, and to tell you the truth, the latter saves the picture from complete nonfulfillment. (Let's just say the film's anti-discriminatory theme was laid on thick and often.)

    Characters utter mechanical phrases such as "Change starts with you" and "Try and make the world a better place," and if this doesn't sound like social conditioning, then I'm not sure what is. There's even a number entitled "Try Everything," which does have a quaint message of perseverance; nonetheless, it contributes to a holier-than-thou temperament that is indecently overbearing and unmistakably disreputable. Some might call these messages timely and examples of AmericanismI would hold them to be obvious and ineffective.

    Screenwriter Phil Johnston and writing newcomer Jared Bush go for broke, and, well, it would seem as if all subtlety is lost. What would appear to be novel ultimately becomes clichéd, and I'm tempted to declare the entire product as a poor propaganda piece dominated by political correctness. (My reluctance to do so only highlights the worth of the film's more lighthearted sentiments.)    

    I, for one, do not oppose what's being broadcasted here. There is simply a bigger issue. Of course, every film has a message, whether it lies in the realm of moral implication or elsewhereeven the "Transformers" franchise has a theme of sorts. But to routinely make moral conditioning the sole motivation of a picture is perturbing. (This isn't the first time Hollywood has been accused of propagandizing audiences, and it will not be the last. Nevertheless, I'm afraid that this behavior has become Disney's latest modus operandi; it's a slippery slope.) Frankly, films that are this morally conspicuous should never be considered art, and they hardly warrant the classification of entertainment. Indoctrinating for good is still indoctrinating.

    On a side note, anthropomorphism has hit an all-time low. It's bad enough that we have succumbed to the ills of the twenty-first century. Must we destroy the lives of these innocent creatures as well? (Naturally, I'm just being a bit cynicalafter all, I am a stern follower of The Cynic's Word Bookbut this observation does deserve some form of recognition.) Our furry friends engage with iPhones and iPods at times during the production, and this only alludes to the influence of such things on our corporate-driven lifestyles. Maybe I'm just too old-fashioned for my own good.

Monday, February 22, 2016

Gods of Egypt ★★

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    "Gods of Egypt" may be the most beautiful movie ever shot with a digital camera (technophiles would be pleased to know that the film puts the newest Panavision Primo lenses into practice without hesitancy), but who's to say that this is a good thing? Director Alex Proyas, who last worked on the science-fiction thriller entitled "Knowing," wanted a big budget and enough artistic freedom to make any filmmaker green with envy, but this flashy, clunky excuse for a picture certainly has more missteps than triumphs, and I could never get past its overreliance on special effects and dialogue that is overtly cheap and hollow. There's also a nagging issue with the actors' costumes, which are mostly in pristine conditionI guess all that icky desert sand would have made the film just too darn authentic.

    Wardrobes aside, it is a schizophrenic tone that helps "Gods of Egypt" become a choice example of bad scriptwriting (the movie is one part epic and three parts goof fest), and although the picture has that movieness quality that so many audiences long for, it is simply too lengthy and too predictable to be deemed an outright success. And I regret even mentioning this, but as much as the film enthralls with its lavish visuals and squeaky-clean appearance, there does seem to be a problem with the integration of the special effects. (Meaning, we're not supposed to be able to differentiate between the foreground and the backdrop, and "Gods" not only makes this all too easy, but there are several action scenes that deserve the designation of cringeworthy.)

    The lackluster story: Horus (Nikolaj Coster-Waldau), god of the sky and heir to the throne of Egypt, is just about to be crowned king, that is, of course, until Set (Gerard Butler), god of the desert and all things tinged with darkness, swoops in and proclaims himself to be the rightful successor. (Apparently, Set feels as if he has been neglected all these years considering his brother, Osiris, has ruled, and he has been confined to the arid, drab portion of Egypt.) Horus will have to reclaim his dignity and derail the dastardly plans of his uncle if peace and prosperity are to be returned to the land and its people. But wait, there's moreBek (Brenton Thwaites), a common thief and doubter of the Gods, must work with Horus to bring back his lost love in Zaya (Courtney Eaton), and if I divulge any more of the plot, then I risk spoiling the few surprises that the film haphazardly provides.

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    Apart from Butler, who gives life to a character that is less than deserving, there isn't much to praise in the acting department, yet I will say that the young actors on hand fail to impress in roles that are built to showcase their talents. Furthermore, Coster-Waldau is overly wooden in a part that surely required more enthusiasm, and most of the other performances were positively phoned in. This is not to mention the fact that every single actress that appears on screen dons some scantily clad outfit designed to enhance features that have little to do with actual aptitude; I haven't seen this much cleavage outside of a Russ Meyer picture.   

    I'd be lying if I said that "Gods of Egypt" didn't embody that big box-office flair, yet it really doesn't amount to much. (Depending on the film's performance, financially speaking, we might just have the first flop of the new year. Thank God for those Australian tax incentives.) Proyas did his job—the camerawork on display, although hardly outstanding, is sufficient enough, and there are a few exceptional uses of forced perspective and foreground framing—but this addition to the sword-and-sandal or neo-mythology genre would scarcely qualify as memorable, and if this were a genuine depiction of ancient Egypt, then I would sincerely have no part of it. (Oversized flying scarabs and giant fire-breathing snakes make it into this unusual fantasy realm, and whether purposely or not, the film saps the romanticism out of this otherwise unforgettable era of history.) There are a number of themes at play (there's a statement on class and a conveyance of equality, as well as an anti-materialist message), but it is impossible to focus on such things when the movie's standout attribute is its appearance. For the record, I give "Gods of Egypt" a "C" for creativity.         

    As for the whitewashing issue that seems to pervade the production: One must know that this practice of casting mainly Caucasian actors in parts that warrant ethnical authenticity is entirely common. In fact, one could say that this exercise is as old as the industry itself. Now, I'm not going to sit here and crucify the picture for its shameless ethnical inaccuracies (the casting of Geoffrey Rush as the sun god Ra should raise some eyebrows); I'm sure that it wouldn't make a difference either way. Sad to say, revenue and eminence will always take the place of believability, and whitewashing will continue in Hollywood as long as moneymaking is the name of the game.      

Tuesday, February 16, 2016

Zoolander 2 ★1/2

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    There should be a new golden rule in Hollywood: If a sequel cannot be generated within a reasonable time frame, let's say a decade after the original, then please, do us all a favor and leave the script in the wastebasket where it belongs. As a matter of fact, make it five years. This way, critics can avoid writing condemnatory pieces littered with sarcasm and phrases that are as scornful as much as they are sincere; perhaps audiences can protect themselves (and their wallets) from pictures that are just plain awful—"really, really ridiculously" awful. (I would like to apologize in advance for what will indisputably become a scathing and negative review. One must know that it doesn't give me pleasure.)

    Of course, timing is seldom used as a determiner of a movie's merit, but you know, sometimes it should be. It is universally accepted that sequels, no matter the sort, rarely give rise to good results, and if they linger in development limbo for too long, the end product will usually speak of this notion. And yet, that doesn't seem to be the case here. "Zoolander 2" practically followed the same production path as "Dumb and Dumber To," which really just means that it was created out of desperation as opposed to prolonged and poor decision making. (Both films seem to give off this sense of enervation as if the comedic minds behind the scenes had exhausted every last feasible joke and bad pun.) Now, I'm not saying that Ben Stiller made this movie because he ran of material, but perhaps there was a paucity of projects ready for producing.

    So, just how lousy is "Zoolander 2?" Well, apart from the film's imbecilic plot and distasteful dialogue, there is a plentitude of jests that clearly fall short of comical, and the entire moviegoing experience can best be summarized as uninterestingly flat and astoundingly vexatious. (The term "dullsville" did come to mind on more than one occasion.) And the fact that it is predominantly nonsensical has nothing to do with itI mean, it surely has the same stupidity that powered the originaljust with less laughter. Mirthful moments are superseded by celebrity cameos, and much like the twosome of Harry and Lloyd, it is the characters' unceasing staticity that necessitates failure. (Derek Zoolander is just about the dumbest on-screen persona I've ever encountered; his lack of intelligence deserves our sympathy, not our enjoyment.)

    I guess what I'm trying to say is this: Regardless of how you spin it, "Zoolander 2" is scarcely entertaining. I can hear the retorts now"But comedy is subjective." Although a factual statement, I am speaking on behalf of the individuals who have an intellectual endowment beyond that of a five-year-old child. (The film's aim at satire is far more saddening than it is humorous; there are so many misfires and poorly executed punchlines that I almost felt bad for the actors who had to read such rubbish.) "The Cable Guy" was funny. "Tropic Thunder" was, may I say, borderline ingenious. "Zoolander 2" is simply shameful.

    It's rather hard for me to place all the blame on Ben Stiller (he is verily one of the last great comedy figures left in Hollywood), but as you can see, there is no other option. He wrote, directed and marketed this miserable excuse for a movie, and it is moments like these when I can't help but question as to what a filmmaker was thinking. But let's focus on the positives, shall we? "Zoolander 2" may be a shoddy addition to the comedy genre, yet it also serves as a first-class example of wasteful spending. Instead of committing to a project of this caliber, Stiller could have continued his journey as a director with pictures like "The Secret Life of Walter Mitty," which was a story that needed to be told. This is one of those films that I'm sure was a riot to make but painful for us to watch.