Lucas ★★★★

    The days of adolescence are a confusing time to say the least, but for the majority of us they are the greatest period in what seems to be a short, and at times, even desultory existence. Several art forms can successfully capture the spirit of this voyage (most notably the art of painting), but none more significant than film. For, as an exquisite painting can arouse some sentiment from its "still" framework, a motion picture can provide so much more. It will not only coax us into believing the events at hand, but it can create an emotional channel into the heart of our individual, personal experiences, which cannot be taken lightly.

    If there was ever a decade in cinema history where themes concerning the loss of innocence or the coming of age were prevalent, it would most certainly be the 1980s. Films such as "The Breakfast Club" and "Sweet Sixteen" divulged into certain teenage angst, most of which came in the form of differences between particular social groupings and the emotional state of young girls finding their way into womanhood. However, the picture in discussion, "Lucas," is infrequent in the fact that it follows the daily life of a sole male, as he attempts to survive not only the tension among social cliques, but constraints such as naive love and feelings of disdain.

    Lucas' personality is expressed through numerous characterization techniques, including the design of his look, dialogue, and external action. By way of these approaches, we know that he is geeky and rather homely in appearance, open minded and anti-materialistic--and above all--that he is a pariah. Even the captain of the football team (nicknamed Cappie) deems him a "great kid." So, why is he teased endlessly and viewed as if he was fresh off the holdings of an alien spacecraft? Well, I guess it is because he is dissimilar to the masses, although it is never implicitly stated, and that's the beauty of the high school.

    Reproducing the ambiance that this environment consists of is very difficult, yet pleasantly introduced in this instance. The utilization of rough film stock gives the picture a grainy texture as if cosmetic refinements were subdued in order to capture the moment in its natural state. Cinematic points of view are perfectly executed: from the subjective focus of Lucas' crush, Maggie, through a crowd of students at a pep rally, to the indirect-subjective panning of teenage girl, to teenage boy, in a chorus scene, as each individual glances at his or her "crush." (The latter being the quintessential capturing of sexual curiosity, at a time when it is new and mysterious.)

    Additionally, the usage of natural lighting only adds to its authenticity, as the red glow of a local pizza joint becomes the reflection of a young couple's physical attraction, and while the low-key lighting, provided by a small tree, sets the mood for a confrontation between Lucas and the apple of his eye.

    Of all the methods present in the structure of "Lucas," however, the symbolism is undoubtedly the most subtle, and memorable. Of course, there is the first meeting between our protagonist and Maggie, as "Waltz of the Flowers," systematically blends with images of this young woman, as she goes through her tennis routine. The presence of the cicada, or locust if you will, and the emphasis placed on this fragile creature, also warrants some interpretation.

    Although the cicada has come to symbolize insouciance, in its most basic elucidation, this meaning is not relevant here. However one designates its significance is highly subjective, although it is my conviction that the cicada is a representation of Lucas, himself. His position in nature, his delicate physical attributes, and his inner appeal, all align with this eloquent contrast.

    Looking back, it is quite evident that the casting of Corey Haim, in the lead role, was nothing short of brilliant. Haim, an actor who lived through a turbulent career (and an even more turbulent personal life), contains the perfect amount of charm and awkwardness to pull off this performance. His mannerisms and rhythm of speech are truly a spectacle to behold. It would seem as if Haim were born to play this character, and that his best work would come before his face was plastered over the front page of every teeny magazine, this side of the Mississippi.   

    What makes this film unique, structurally speaking, is the irony of the seemingly static and dynamic characters. (The latter being affected deeply by the conflict.) Lucas is never really dependent on the outcome of his adolescent journey and never changes throughout the duration of the action. Yet, it is the surrounding characters, ones who would not normally be attributed to deep change (in regard to their demeanor or attitudes), who do find some guiding light from the resolution. "Lucas" is a picture that finds its way, much like the central character finds himself. It is unorthodox at times, but never relenting in tenderheartedness.

Big Hero 6 ★★★

    Although Disney has essentially become a shadow of its former self (if compared to their glorious golden age or even the elation brought to us by the renaissance years), its newest picture, "Big Hero 6," attempts to evoke that same sense of euphoria and excitement—you know, the kind that makes children rush to the nearest toy store and adults exude the exasperation aligned with taking their young child to see a PG rated film. Lovable characters, a compelling storyline, along with adolescent humor, are all elements needed to produce a quality animated film, and "Big Hero 6" surely delivers on these notes.

    However, as we find ourselves in the midst of an origin tale for the latest superhero group, there are several shortcomings that arise. Our so-called "villain" is nothing more than a flat and rather one-dimensional persona (granted most are), whose only motivating force for action is to align with the thematic intentions of the film, which I will chew over shortly. Yet, the most notable deficiency stems from the environment in which our heroes reside.

    If the seemingly futuristic city of San Fransokyo, a poor amalgam of the real life cities of San Francisco and Tokyo, as well as the name of our central protagonist, Hiro, is not satisfyingly enough indication as to the subculture in which Disney is blatantly trying to advertise, then I'm not sure what is. The allure of the Japanese "anime" subculture is one of spiked hair, large and charming facial features, and imaginative writing, all of which "Big Hero 6" possesses, and yet, it can never quite convince us of the atmosphere in which it aims to capitalize on.

    As if taking a page from the innards of a Spider-Man comic book, Hiro is a young boy (who I'm guessing is of American-Japanese ethnicity) whose parents were lost in a tragic accident and who is now under the care of the stereotypically unhinged and carefree aunt. Ironically, Hiro's intelligence supersedes the image he imposes, which is one of a small and immature teenager. (This is introduced to us via a comically inclined expository scene.)

    Naturally, there is loss, followed by comfort, and the deceitfulness of a malefactor who is ultimately not what they seem to be. This all leads to the creation of a team of heroes whose individual ineptness summarizes the quirkiness of their character. There's the obsessive compulsive and danger fearing male, the intelligent and eccentric blonde, the strong feminist type, and the long-haired hippie geek.

    And, of course, who could forget Baymax. Arguably the mainspring of the entire picture, Baymax is a plump, robotic health provider who seems to be as much trouble as his worth. Along with this physically obtrusive figure comes situational humor as he struggles to get through tight spaces and as his frail exterior warrants somewhat humorous repairs. In essence, the film is filled with jests that will only be enjoyed by youthful children and none of which made me crack a smile.

    It is quite clear where the concern of this film lies: in the realm of moral implication. The lesson of dealing with individual loss, and the raw emotions that accompany such events, is spelled out in obvious manners such as characters simply stating that "this is a revenge story" and other subtle ways, such as single shot motifs that warrant feelings of abandonment and remembrance. It is a very important instruction, no matter the age, and one in which Disney would imply that revenge is only hurtful to the situation.

    Nevertheless, it would seem as if this picture had been done before, and it most certainly has, just not in this particular style. The presence of Stan Lee in yet another on-screen cameo, albeit in animated form this time around, is a playful reminder of that fact. If anything, however, it is the ability to be able to relate to Hiro that should nominate success. In that regard, it succeeds substantially.

    "Frozen" and "Big Hero 6," the last two films bestowed upon us by Disney's animated studios, have ignited a firestorm of acclaim, and they are cherished by both audiences and critics alike. Have we all forgotten the heartwarming tales of "Bambi" and "Pinocchio?" Have we lost the admiration for pictures such as "Beauty and the Beast" and "The Lion King?" It is as if our lives are devoid of all contentment and anything Disney fabricates brings a joyous celebration. I'll reserve my childish glee, I think, until hand-drawn animation becomes something more than just a forgotten art.
 

Abduction 1/2 Star

    "Abduction," is a 2011 thriller that attempts to cash in on the popularity of a young, and inexperienced actor, who starred in a series of blockbuster films that comprise the "Twilight" saga. Now, on the surface of things, this may seem like a logical decision, and maybe even downright brilliant. I can hear the casting director now: "Let's cast an actor, who helped contribute to the financial gain of hundreds of millions of dollars in revenue, and who has posters in every teenage girl's room all over the country."  What could go wrong?

    Well, in the case of "Abduction," everything. Beyond the uninspired script, which exhibits a lack of understanding as to what makes a picture worth watching, you will find: lackadaisical performances, horrid execution of computer graphic imaging, and a story that is as idiotic as some of the worst plot lines in cinema history.

    However, to say that Taylor Lautner is a terrible actor, or even to claim that he is a promising one, is clearly misguided, and much of his performance here is irrelevant in regard to those notions. Sure, his delivery of lines are not masterful to say the least, and his looks of reaction seem mostly like strained, and relatively overemphasized, looks of smolder. Yet, this is partly due to the conditioning received in the above-mentioned set of films, in which Lautner was required to project such demeaning qualities. These constraints surely exist here, as this picture becomes nothing more than an outlet for the hormonal frustrations of thousands of young women.

    The plot (which I have already designated as idiotic, and you will most certainly understand why), consists of the mysterious identity of a certain teenage male, Nathan Harper, who lives in a quiet suburban area of Pittsburgh. Nathan seemingly has it all: a cool motorcycle, a loving set of parents, and the affectionate gazes of a popular high school cheerleader. This all becomes consigned to oblivion, however, when Nathan is assigned to work on a ten-page sociology report, where a chance event turns into international intrigue.

    Apparently, our protagonist's real father, (he soon learns that he is adopted) has stolen a key piece of information from a ruthless foreign mastermind, who subsequently sets up an elaborate, and completely half-baked, scheme, to ransom Nathan and retrieve the purloined data. The Serbian terrorist, Nikola Kozlow, is obviously a hard determinist or he has a hand in the agenda of the local high school. Let's break it down here; a sociology report warrants Lautner to search a missing persons' website, where he stumbles upon a picture of himself, which in turn, triggers the plot, because Kozlow set up this faux site in hopes that our main character will miraculously find it, and thus, give away his location.

    Besides the obvious fact that this could have taken years to unfold, (I guess an anonymous e-mail, with a link to the website, was too straightforward) numerous other questions arise. Why not just go after the man who stole the much sought after encrypted code in the first place? Why, after all these many years, would the father even care if his son is ransomed? Our leading persona questions the latter concept as well and receives an answer of, "You must not know your father." No, we do not, and this is much of the problem.

    "Abduction" is the epitome of carelessness. Case in point: there is a scene in which the antagonists shoot up a small diner, where our lead character is having a meal with the CIA, and the stock characters are entirely absent. There is no waitress present, although their food has already been served, and no cook, although they evidently have food on their plates. The only quality of a cinematic film that "Abduction" displays, is continuous motion, which is not to say anything at all, considering any amateur home video has the same attributes.

    Nevertheless, this picture did indeed capture two awards, albeit at the Teenage Movie Awards, for Best Action Film and Best Action Star, which of course, would seem successful in the minds of those whose intent was to squeeze the pockets of naive (certainly with regard to the art of film) youngsters. Much like his co-stars in the "Twilight" pictures, I would not expect much productivity for the rest of Mr. Lautner's career--and if I'm wrong, then we know where to see the young actor accept his awards.

Dumb and Dumber To ★

    Chances are that if you enjoyed the original "Dumb and Dumber," you may find the sequel to be forced, repetitive and all-around unfortunate. Granted, the humor that accentuated the first film is still present, albeit in smaller doses. This time, however, it seems as if the dumbfounded duo that warmed our hearts all those years ago was just an illusion, and now every gag in the book is in use to strain a dry laugh from anyone they can obtain it from. How brainless can these antiheroes become?

    You might find yourself in an unadulterated hysteria of amusement if you find certain things, such as these situations, humorous.

An individual pulling on another individual's catheter, causing much pain in the lower extremities.
The distasteful act of sexually violating an elderly woman.
An adult male changing another adult male's diaper, complete with excretion humor. 
The utilization of computer-graphic imaging to create "snot bubbles." 

    The point is that physical humor (a Jim Carrey specialty) has replaced that of situational comedy, the latter of which indeed fueled the first film. Now we have to watch Carrey wolf down a hot dog in hopes that someone will emit a sound of laughter. Numerous scenes are overdone and are blatantly repulsive, and it reminded me of a stand-up comedian who had run out of jokes and proceeded to discharge bodily sounds to get some form of reaction from the audience.   
 
    Our premise here consists of Harry returning to the mental institution in which he regularly visits to check on his partner in crime, Lloyd, who has become a shell of his former self. Lloyd reveals that it has been a gag all along, twenty years and running, and the twosome shove off into the sunset. The remainder of the storyline centers on Harry and the newly revealed fact that he has a daughter, and much like the original installment, they must embark on a long road trip to find her. Other aspects of the plot are negligible considering the quality of the film itself—things are not what they seem, and there is a plethora of disagreeable jocularity along the way.

    Viewing "Dumb and Dumber To" is like watching an individual struggle to find their way into a pair of jeans that is ten times too small. It is amusing at times, mostly tedious, and, ultimately, it is a futile attempt. The atmosphere is there, mind you, but instead of justifying laughter, it warrants feelings of sympathy for both the characters on screen and the actors portraying them. Carrey and Daniels have crafted this picture over a decade too late and with little incentive for enjoyment. 

    The only positive stemming from this uninspired project is the simple fact that the film's release date preceded that of the "Hunger Games" franchise so that it at least earned a sufficient financial return, even if it was less than deserving. There is a juncture in the film where Lloyd guesses the identity of an object in a package that is to be delivered to Harry's daughter. His assumption is that it's a baked potato, although he isn't certain why. Harry responds with, "I'm sure you'll get it, Lloyd." My bet is that he never will.       

Mr. Peabody & Sherman ★★

    Dreamworks' "Mr. Peabody & Sherman" is a children's film that gives rise to a curious notion-- that seemingly anything can be made into a 90-minute production. Just imagine: A subset of a popular 1960s animated television show, in which the duration of the segments were incredibly short, becoming a full-featured adventure. Well, considering the mindset of modern-day production companies, this idea surely meets the established criteria.

    Not to give off the impression that Mr. Peabody isn't a lovable character; let's face it, who can resist the attraction to a dog, who wears glasses and has more knowledge than the most brilliant minds left on Earth, combined. And if you were not already aware, Mr. Peabody reads off his accomplishments and accolades, at the beginning of the picture as if his life depended on it. This includes: being a Harvard graduate, a developer of alternative energy sources, a geopolitical conflict resolver, and inventor of numerous twenty-first-century fads, including Zumba, among other things. (Not to mention the size of his penthouse, which would have even the likes of Donald Trump swimming in a pool of envy.)

    This film essentially relies on the extended use of tawdry humor, including the unamusing puns of Mr. Peabody and the duel injected storyline, which only distracts us from the more heartwarming of the two, being the relationship between a father and son. (if you are in dire need of a plot summary, here it is: Sherman's ineptness causes a rift in time, and it is up to Mr. Peabody to fix it. On a side note, Sherman begins school, and Mr. Peabody must prove to Mrs. Grunion, a cantankerous school official, and terrific illustration of name typing, that he is indeed, fit to be a father.) This complication all leads up to a quip of very poor taste. That's right folks, a masturbation joke.

    And yet, that is not the sole instance in which all insensitivity is lost. There is the use of a Stephen Hawking lunchbox, that warrants the designation of inconsiderate, along with several other witticisms, including the very popular, among adolescents, "poop" and "boob" jokes. They even find time in the script to poke fun at Disney characters, such as Pinocchio, and former President Bill Clinton, as he claims, "I've done worse," in a particular circumstance.    

    The exotic locations, in which we are escorted to, via the WABAC, comprise of France, Egypt, and Italy, all of which are aligned with a time period that would lend the opportunity for educational material. However, this seems to be the hindmost motivation of the picture, and we are left with nothing more than plot driven action, and as mentioned above, bad puns. (It was a staple of the old animated cartoon that Sherman never understood the wordplays; unfortunately for us, we do.)

    "Mr. Peabody & Sherman" fails to capture the quirkiness of the original animation, and completely misses the mark. Although this is not uncommon, when it comes to reboots, it still remains a disappointing condition, especially for those parents who brought their children to the theater, looking for a portion of educational value, and at least, in some sense, tasteful humor. (Just another cause for the live-action television program, entitled "Wishbone," which features a small terrier with a big imagination, to get a re-run deal.)

    There is a scene in which Mr. Peabody reminisces on his first encounters with Sherman, and the affections of the past, accompanied by John Lennon's beloved "Beautiful Boy." It truly is the most promising scene for the entire duration and is regrettably short-lived. If the filmmakers had continued with this idea of presentation, then we would have another discussion altogether.

    

Sabotage ★1/2

    If someone were to tell me five years ago that Arnold Schwarzenegger would still be producing films at this stage in his career, I might have just brushed off the utterance, and went about my daily affairs. After all, why would a man who has accomplished so much, aside from the silver screen, accept trivial roles of seemingly misguided intentions? I guess this is a question only he can answer.

    David Ayer's "Sabotage" is a misfortune, to say the least, both for the leading actor, and the director, himself. Ayer has been at the helm of numerous scripts, most of which center on the underlining fabric of police corruption. Although the heart of this picture lies with one of the most gifted actors, (not necessarily for his delicate approach to subject matter, but for his heroic, and at times larger than life aura) it falls flat in many ways than one, and becomes the embodiment of most things that we would deem repugnant with regard to film-making.

    The story line here is one of an arbitrary fashion, and only satisfies the most basic instincts of human capacity, that being, sight and hearing. Schwarzenegger becomes John "Breacher" Wharton, the head of a renegade police force, who bring down the country's most notorious drug lords and still find time to indulge in recreational abuses, among other things. (If you like spending your time watching men quench their thirst with cheap beer and displaying vast depths of vulgar language, then these personas may become of some interest.)

    An opening scene features a drug bust that turns into a display of situational irony, as our team attempts to steal a portion of the narcotic profiteering they ultimately seize, (hence the above usage of the term "renegade") although the money is found missing moments later. Consequently, the focus shifts to the question of: who stole the loot, and once the members of Wharton's team become the victims of graphic slayings, the concern veers in the direction of the identity of these murderers. The logical answer would be the constituents of the cartel, in which the money was stolen although that would obviously be too undemanding.

    From here, the plot divulges into the intricacies of these homicide investigations, in an endeavor to distract the audience from who may actually have the ample motivation to commit such heinous acts. By this juncture, even the most rudimentary individual would have lost interest, although I may be underestimating the audience's need to view senseless violence and monotonous dialogue.

    The direction is uneven, to put it nicely, as Ayer's execution of numerous close-ups and zoom outs come to symbolize the film as a whole, and that would be poorly done. There is a scene in which Wharton is conferring with the lead investigator, and the camera, pans back and forth between each individual, as they read their next uninspired line. Although it does give off the sense of being a third occupant in the room, (much like how your head would turn its attention to whoever is speaking) it is not suitable here. If anything, it just reminds us that there was a lack of editing involved. As far as any extraction of knowledge from the picture is concerned, if David Ayer is attempting to suggest a moral implication (such as "money is the root of all evil"), or to display the truth of human nature, it is structurally not conducive.

    Of all the dialogue that is belched out among the choir, the lines that Schwarzenegger is forced to recite, are undoubtedly the most unflattering. (These are mostly composed of obscenities and references to male genitalia.) Much like a director, who chooses to work in a studio because of the products of the 1930s, and 1940s, in which he or she grew up with (in an attempt to replicate the same ambiance), I believe Schwarzenegger reduces himself to roles of this stature, in an albeit futile venture, to capture the essence of what he has created in the past. Unfortunately, this journey is proving to be fruitless, and it is becoming almost unbearable to watch.

Interstellar ★★★★

    Christopher Nolan's "Interstellar" is a film that requires patience and an understanding of human nature. It places humanity in an eleventh-hour quandary and sends a small group of individuals, forming a microcosm, into the infinite cold and darkness that is our universe--a journey that almost certainly will not transpire within my lifetime, and one that would only reside in the pages of a science fiction novel.

    A picture of this magnitude must be molded by a sense of truth and by a sincerity that can only be delivered by a skilled filmmaker. Nolan has crafted a delicate product here; one that tries to persuade us of many things: that love transcends all realms of time and physical space; that the heart of human dignity is in a constant struggle between utilitarian and egoist thought; that conquering fear and death is in the pioneer infused blood of us all; that time is an aspect of life that we still do not understand and can never manipulate to our advantage. Not only does Nolan coax you into believing these romanticized notions, but he does so in an emotionally driven and aesthetically pleasing way. Literally, a daydream among the stars.

    The exposition centers on a small family, who live on a food and resource starved Earth. (A time that would make Thomas Hobbes' state of nature proud.) NASA has moved underground, and former space pilots, including our protagonist, have been reduced to mere farmers, as agriculture becomes the insatiable need of the planet's inhabitants. And this is where the film takes its first leap into the boundaries of an unrelenting aspiration.

    Cooper, our widower turned hero, must say goodbye to his family, which consists of a son and a young daughter, and shove off into space with little room for error. We travel with Cooper through the perilous stillness, which essentially lends the opportunity for Nolan to exercise his magic: Once absolved of Earth's atmosphere, the setting becomes a vessel of sheer visual delight and wonderment. Rotating external shots of the spaceship's hull and planetary backdrops become a reality, along with the terrain of foreign worlds that have features as marvelous as frozen clouds.

    Nolan's exercision of symbolism is subtle, yet never wavering in emotion. Messages from home come to symbolize the delicacy of life and feelings of heartache. Extrinsic metaphors showcase the idea of impending doom and unadulterated hope. If there is one skill set in the arsenal of Nolan that can summarize this experience, it is his use of the indirect-subjective point of view. The camera loses its physical constraints and becomes a gateway to adventure. Thus, pulverizing the audience with an intense fervor, which is accentuated masterfully by composer Hans Zimmer.

    Naturally, with any science fiction film comes the toil of pleasing astronomers and astrophysicists everywhere. I'm sure there is an abundance of articles traveling the internet freeway at this moment that refute some aspect of the plot or the inconsistency of one equation or another. The fact of the matter is that you will not read any discrepancies of this fashion here. Of course, the dialogue is rich in astronomical terminology, as time becomes nothing more than an expendable concept. However, relativity is the foremost subject matter, and the characters do their best to explain such vices with quick summaries and lines that read "that's relativity folks."  Much like a "Star Trek" episode, one has to learn the parameters and move on.

    Matthew McConaughey has come a long way as an actor. His career has progressed in a rather peculiar manner, and it has surely seen a number of missteps and debacles. Unlike most actors who come into the business with guns blazing, McConaughey has eased into the waters of Hollywood like an old man slipping into a warm bath. (What other box-office headliners can say they started their career on "Unsolved Mysteries?") Most stars burn brightly in their younger years and begrudgingly fizzle out--most of which with a string of inadequate performances. Yet here is McConaughey, in the latter portion of his acting career, shimmering as brightly as ever.

    His performance in "Interstellar" is unquestionably remarkable. There are numerous scenes that could have gone sour, if not for the brilliant acting provided by McConaughey; this is a genuine role for a genuine man. His intensity and emotion is right on cue and never fails to deliver the utmost power and authenticity. McConaughey's approach here is very well prepared and well calculated. Additionally, Michael Caine provides an exhilarating performance, albeit less lengthy and of a lesser importance--nevertheless noteworthy. His role only adds to the engrossing study of human nature and gives the picture a poetic sense of enlightenment, as his character's leitmotif becomes the repetition of the Dylan Thomas poem, aptly entitled, "Do not go gentle into that good night."

    There are many discernible flaws and illogical sequences that would have any perfectionist cringing at the thought: Emotional restraint is thrown to the wind and becomes virtually non-existent, yet scenes that suffer from this syndrome are undeniably held together by the strong performances of McConaughey and others. Some scenes of plot significance are drowned out by the, at times, overbearing score. Furthermore, there is the inconceivability of how long a human being can go without oxygen, as well as the puzzling production design of the robotic intelligence entities that accompany our human equivalents. (With regard to the latter, there are many times that these obtrusive and rather unappealing machines litter the background of an otherwise alluring setting.) Lastly, there is the philosophical issue of Cooper's display of courage and bravery; a train of thought proposed by the dialogues of one, Plato. Is he really brave if his expertise is with regard to the circumstances at hand?

    So, how does "Interstellar" counter these seemingly destructive imperfections? Well, it is quite simple--with a "suspension of disbelief." A phrase coined by the highly influential poet of Samuel Taylor Coleridge. Nolan has crafted a tale so engulfed in human interest and truth, that the implausibilities that surround its structure are simply negligible.

    The problem with today's film industry is its inability to dare to dream. What child hasn't slumped his or her head back, while admiring the night sky, in pure awe and wonder? What adolescent, along with countless adults, has not wondered what is beyond the stars of our galaxy? My guess is all but a relative few, who probably remain attached to their tedious lives without a single thought to this subject. It is within these metaphysical boundaries that "Interstellar" excels and never looks back.

    Do not read any further if you have not seen the film.

    There is a scene in the denouement of this picture, which consists of the last meeting between Cooper and his daughter, where the theme will melt over all the senses like a warm blanket. It is a theme concerned with the complexity of human relationships--and more specifically--the relationship between a father and a daughter. It is a very strenuous scene and the most important in the entire film. McConaughey's execution here is perfectly orchestrated, and the beauty of this moment has lasted with me since the film's ending. A very wise man once told me that dreams are everything. Without them, we are nothing more than a misguided spawn of nature. Here is a dream that we can all enjoy.

Nightcrawler ★★★1/2

    Originality, in terms of Hollywood's perception, seems anomalous to say the least, and regrettably has become a peculiar language to us all. Barring few exceptions, the study of character has become a lost art; to be admired in the halls of cinematic history, only appreciated by sight, and never to be touched again. However, Louis Bloom is a man that gives us hope. He is a man that defines what it means to present a delineation of character like no other and to give rise to a darker side of human nature.

    Inner city Los Angeles is a playground for an individual of Louis Bloom's stature and psyche. It is the quintessential backdrop to reflect the inner dwellings of his mind. Restlessness, withdrawal, and loneliness, highlight Bloom's life, as we are first introduced to him as a small-time peddler.

    He can be found in the hidden darkness of night, scouring construction sites for redeemable material, in hopes that he can sell it back to another, unsuspecting construction crew. After his latest gatherings are rejected, it warrants a scene that remarkably highlights his intelligence and creepiness, as Bloom recites an oral résumé that showcases his attention to detail and his unbelievable calculatedness.

    Jake Gyllenhaal is infinitely superb in a role that requires a heavy tongue, to contrast a gloomy appearance. He channels his inner Robert De Niro, via "Taxi Driver," with his quiet, yet aggressive personality, and with a head full of black hair, slicked back to reveal a face filled with curiosity and deception. He's the type of guy who shies away from a conversation, but once indulged, will talk your head off until the sun comes up.

    The conflict surrounding Louis' life is one consisting of a struggle for human dignity--both internally and externally. After a fateful ride home finds Louis face to face with a roadside accident, a miraculous intrigue sets in upon his wandering mind, as late night renegade film crews record the misfortune (in which we are later told in so many words that blood and graphic material sells), and prepare to offer it to overnight news station management for morning ledes. Hence, an amateur business opportunity is born.

    Bloom hires an associate, in which he deems an "intern," to help him navigate the dreary and blackness enshrouded streets of late night L.A. and to watch the car while he, sometimes without positive results, attempts to film petty crimes and unfortunate incidents. This only leads to toil as Bloom inevitably schemes to work his way up the rungs of the invisible ladder of night crawler popularity, also known as "stingers," and to get his small business adequate recognition.

    A sensational directorial debut is far and few between, but Dan Gilroy, a man who is very familiar with the film process, undoubtedly has one here. His direction is a thing of beauty, as the crime scenes in which our central character receives his material brim with verisimilitude and truly create a feeling of being "there" and a heightened sense of reality. Beyond that, Gilroy has essentially created an ambiance that suits the distance of Louis' personality.

    Our anti-hero, albeit a man who is not readily acquainted with empathy, is consistently depicted in low key lighting, which only accentuates the enigmatic facets of his mien. Additionally, he is portrayed in a harsh or "hard" diffusion of light, molding the contours of his facial features through the subtle play of light and shadow. I have not seen a character so engulfed in dimness, since Michael Corleone in "The Godfather Part II."

    There is an abundance of symbolism in this picture that takes many shapes and tends to progress in intensity as the events play out in a suspenseful fashion. The director charges his symbolic ideas through musical emphasis, which culminates in one particularly brilliant scene where Bloom plays "the artist" and manipulates the remains of a vehicular homicide to produce better footage, and by the relationship of one object to another in a singular shot.

    The most notable of the latter being a scene in which an empty chair is nestled in the background, while Bloom expresses his self-loathing for failure, and a closing scene, where we are bombarded with the truth of our beloved main character's depravity--which ultimately leads us to ponder more intricately into the depths of human thought.

    Although the cinematic concern, or theme, of this film, is unquestionably one of character, it is tempting to delve deeper into the mindset of one, Louis Bloom. It would be enticing to say that he almost takes on a role larger than himself, producing a theme of the often brutal truth of human nature. His actions of depravity, which in essence is a corruption of the human soul through original sin, could be considered representative of humanity as a whole, centralizing on our fascination with gore and death, along with the startling reality that we are all selfish creatures of a brutish nature. (A staple in Protestant Reformation thought.)

    Still, the symbolic patterns and motifs (there is a strategically placed motif consisting of a billboard that reads "focus" to remind us of his obsessive mentality) guide us to the heart of this picture's intentions; the delineation of this irregular character study. And what an exhibition it is.

The Stepfather ★1/2

    There are some pictures that should never, in the realm of logic and sound reasoning, be re-fashioned in any sense of the word. Rationally, there are two conditions in which this notion should be fulfilled. Firstly, if the original, in which this burden now bestowed is based upon, was simply not thought provoking or structurally significant. Secondly, and most importantly, a film should never be revamped if it is to offer nothing to the dominion that is film-making.

    "The Stepfather" is unequivocally an offender of this train of thought.

    We are introduced to our antagonist, a man of numerous faces, in a surprisingly somber and tragic mood. It is here that this film executes two methods of irony. Dramatic irony, which gains its power from the contrast of ignorance and knowledge, as the audience is conscious of some fact that our characters on screen have no awareness. In this particular instance, the reality that David Harris is a cold blooded killer, who is eagerly wanted for his involvement in a family's murder.

    Additionally, there is the issuance of irony of tone, as Harris makes a light breakfast while the pleasant tune of "Holy Night" can be heard and the family, in which he has savagely murdered, lie in pools of their own blood. Thus, these two techniques are arguably the only thing that resembles quality craftsmanship. The rest of the picture is plagued by many handicaps, most notably acting or the lack thereof, and does little to add suspense to an already lethargic atmosphere.

    Subsequently, Harris makes his way to Portland, Oregon, where he begins this sadistic cycle, yet again, of romanticizing widowed or divorced mothers, gaining their trust, and killing them with seemingly no motivation other than individual despondency. He lurks in local supermarkets and garners his victim's attention through the use of good manners and an innocent demeanor. (A collection of traits eerily similar to a real life, and rather inhuman individual, in Ted Bundy.)

    The unfortunate family this time around consists of Susan, a loving and completely naive mother, who doesn't seem the bit unnerved by David's mysterious past, as long as he fulfills her emotional, and assumingly, her physical needs. Susan has two children, which have little to do with anything, and an older son who just arrived back from military school. Michael, who is designated the black sheep of the family, spurs our conflict as he struggles to accept the proclaimed nobility of Harris.

    Consequently, the remainder of the picture remains static and builds upon the son's mistrust. He confers with his air-headed blonde girlfriend (who trounces around in a bikini for blatantly obvious and shallow reasons) about his suspicions, to no avail. Of course, there has to be some way Michael's intuition is justified. Inevitably, we receive this justification through the dialogue of the stepfather. His pessimistic views and insensitive remarks are causes for concern, along with his stalking mentalities and the ability to appear and disappear at the speed of light.

    There are two aspects of the film, among countless other things, that truly highlight its ineptness. One is in regard to plot unification, and the other involves the delicate approach to lighting. Harris is a very detail-orientated person. (This is perceived through several actions, the most humorous of which, involves him correcting the position of a misplaced stapler on a family desk.) And yet, he forgets to close a basement door, as he carries on a barbarous act, and fails to clear the search history of the family computer, after he finds himself on the America's Most Wanted web page.

    This brings us to the fine art of lighting: There is a scene at the family dinner table, in which the overhead lighting provides a horrid result. The stepfather is draped in a bright aura of light and the son, sitting at the opposite end of the table, is enshrouded in darkness, even though the overhead fixture is above the center of the table. Now, if this was to promote a symbolic effect, although highly unlikely, then I will revoke my comments. Nevertheless, "The Stepfather" is an uninspired product and it truly is a mystery how the antagonist never suffered from a stomach ulcer, while he continually repressed his psychotic expressions. Maybe that can be the subject of another hapless enduring.

           

The Book Of Life ★★1/2

 
    There is a startling discovery made in the expository scenes of "The Book of Life." Evidently, oblivious to the intricacies of science and logic, we are told that Mexico is the center of the universe. Although this information was revealed in a discernibly playful manner, I could not help but wonder how many children, by the film's closing, would truly believe this fantasized notion. My guess is enough to unhinge teachers worldwide.

    The mentioning of this tidbit of knowledge is pertinent because the underlying aim of this children's picture is to delight audiences with a culture that is known to a relative few. (Of course, you would have to go a long way before you found anyone who had not heard of "The Day of the Dead.") Unfortunately, this film does little to inform us of why this holiday is important to Mexican culture and it eventually becomes its own worst enemy.

    "The Book of Life" attempts to cash in on a fairy tale atmosphere, by placing our story within a story. A group of misbehaved adolescents are taken to a museum, on the Day of the Dead and are led into a clandestine portion of the building. They come face to face with the Book of Life, a book that contains every tale the world has ever come into contact with. The tour guide chooses to divulge into an account of love, fate, and self-discovery.

    Among other things, this picture relies on its execution of cosmic and dramatic irony. La Muerte, a dashingly beautiful goddess who keeps watch over the land of the remembered, and Xibalba, a menacing god who is made of all things "icky," essentially become the most significant characters in the film, as they will control the fate of our three young protagonists. A bet is made between these two omniscient figures and the love of Maria is up for grabs between two young men, Manolo, and Joaquin.

    We subsequently watch our main suitors bid for love, as laughter or sympathy is evoked from their dramatic ignorance until Maria has made her fateful decision. Does she choose the war honored heroism of Joaquin or the sensitively induced soul of Manolo? (The latter being a man who would give anything to shun his family's heritage of bullfighting to be a beloved guitarist.) In the end, her choice is a moot point, as the theme has little to do with love and much to do with destiny. There is never any doubt as to who Maria will ultimately choose, and that's part of the problem.


    There are several conflicts at play here. Besides the obvious internal struggle of Maria, there is the complication that perturbs Manolo; a conflict that symbolizes change versus tradition. Manolo must undergo disappointment and shame from his family if he is to dismiss the career of bull fighting for guitar playing. (A relatable notion for many individuals, who choose to pursue their own ambitions in spite of their parent's wishes.)

    The external conflicts stem from Manolo's physical inability to obtain Maria's love and via the presence of Chakal, a rather large and disgruntled bandit, whose role in the film would warrant a state of complete and utter bewilderment. His only motivation for existence is to lend some difficulty to the "real" environment and to redeem the character of Joaquin, which compromises his role as foil and the static nature of his character. Thus, an unnecessary and certainly unneeded aspect, that if left out, could have eased the pain.

    A fascinating segment of the film, in which Manolo travels to the land of the remembered, is regrettably cut short, and this pretty much summarizes the picture's lack of understanding of even its own intentions. The festive spirit that enshrouds this quite magical day of remembrance is ironically forgotten, much like the poor souls who inhabit the other "land" that apparently dwells beneath the surface of Mexico City: The land of the forgotten.

    "The Book of Life" is far from being designated a bad film, although it doesn't help itself deviate from that darkened path. The stock characters are beyond hideous, which seemingly adds to the allure of the main personas, but at length, just symbolizes the beauty of the famed and the dreariness of the insignificant. Channing Tatum's  voice over work is painstakingly horrid and only adds to the laundry list of imperfections that could have been avoided.    

    Nevertheless, there is a very important moral value that children can take away from the context of the picture. Dreams are everything. They distinguish us as individuals and they simply make life worth living. No matter how foolish one's parental guardians may deem a particular career path, always remember that the choice is yours to make. If everyone followed their parent's guidance, the world would be a monotonous place--full of dying ambitions and begrudged patrons. Truly a land of the forgotten.

The Evil Dead ★

    "The Evil Dead," structurally speaking, is a horrendous film. The production design is virtually nonexistent, as costuming, make-up, and setting were seemingly thrown together at a moment's notice with little physical effort or any exertion of imaginative thought. The lone cabin in the heart of the woods does convey some feeling of isolation and trepidation; however, it is lost once the "demons" first appear and one realizes that the setting is not so much fearful as much as what is going on inside the internal dwellings of the characters.

    This is surely not to mention the fact that a sizable amount of individuals live in a backwoods atmosphere of this manner (even I have spent time in a shack like this) and, for them, horror would simply be called home.

    Arguably, the blame should rest solely on the script, which, in many respects, is the backbone and soul of every picture. The visual design of a film will certainly be dictated by what is written on those organized pieces of paper. In this particular instance, however, it doesn't seem as if the screenplay bestowed any information to the production, except, of course, for the desolate hovel and the generalized grotesqueness of the demonized characters. (The latter of which was also poorly handled.)

    To use the film's budget as a means of explaining why this catastrophe was ever created would at least be somewhat noble. Yet, it would seem that the intention here was to dumb down the protagonists and "camp up" the ambiance in order to provide the first legitimate parody of the horror genre. Actions in the face of danger are assuredly illogical (to create a comical effect, mind you), and the creatures of the night are, in fact, more humorous and annoying than blood-curdling. This becomes evident as Ash, the central dummy, consistently tells his friends and girlfriend, who have taken a turn for the worst, to simply "shut up."

    Even a backing of such a low financial stature does not warrant a picture of this humble magnitude. The execution of lighting is unflattering, to say the least, most notably in the exterior night scenes, and the direction is routine at best. Additionally, I refuse to deem the exercising of the "shaky" camera movement, which seems to stomp through the woods, as anything other than amateur. (Anyone with a hand-held camera and some pace to their stride could achieve this same effect with little to no experience.) I mean, the best angle of the entire film is a rear shot of the college students' car as it drives up a leaf-littered ground on its way to the cabin.

    Unfortunately, "The Evil Dead" has spawned a cult following and has been the inspiration for numerous pictures with the same motivations. (The logic behind these decisions is completely lost on my conscious, along with the appeal to this type of humor.) Action and suspense are relatively absent in an effort to evoke more of an amusing reaction, and this is something that really irks me to the core. A parody of the horror genre is like a trip to the dentist: It's tedious, sometimes painful, and always costly, whether it might be time or money. At least, after the dentist appointment, you get a piece of candy for your troubles.

First Knight ★★

    Europe's Medieval period of history is one filled with sword fighting, exquisite architecture, and ultimately: romanticism. Of course, this is the idea that prevails from numerous depictions in the art of film. Although these aspects surely existed, this age is best characterized as a time of great adaption and substantial growth for humanity through religion, literature, and a number of fine arts.

    King Arthur is a man that can be ascribed with the same misconceived notions that this era of history justifies. For, his life's work has been perceived through the likes of folklore and literary invention. "First Knight" is a picture that continues this sentimentalized portrayal and attempts to fulfill the audience's desire for what should be or the truth of human nature. Which, in this particular instance, is the ideal that true love conquers all, even moral burdens.

    Our story centers on Lady Guinevere of Lyonesse. Her people have been the victims of malicious attacks stemming from the cruel intentions of a former Roundtable Knight in Malagant. With nowhere else to turn, Guinevere boldly decides to forgo her intuition and accept the marriage proposal of King Arthur, as he can provide protection for her land and people. An inevitable moral decision to increase happiness for all.

    As Guinevere makes her way to Camelot, the escorting convoy is ambushed and Guinevere is captured. By chance or fate, a rogue swordsman by the name of Lancelot saves the princess and essentially falls in love--and this is where the film takes a turn for the worst. Everything that takes place subsequently is dictated by this underdeveloped relationship, which theoretically could be summarized as love at first sight, although without the magic to accompany such perceptions, we are left with a tale of ineffectiveness.

    If we were to be forthright, this attraction between Guinevere and Lancelot is one of sexual craving more than anything else. (This may be due to the fact that he is the only male seemingly around her age group, and she is the only beautiful woman he has seen in years.) It doesn't take much to fall in love with a woman when your current companion is an iron sword and your trips around the country hardly come into contact with single women. The magic of true love, which supposedly underlines the film, is never fully realized.

    The action sequences consist of Lancelot rescuing Guinevere, as helplessness becomes her most prominent trait, and a clash between King Arthur and Malagant's men under a moonlit battlefield. The latter being the opportune moment for Lancelot to exercise his courage, as he disposes of countless enemies with his unmatched skill set in swordsmanship. Which begs a question of its own: Is it really considered bravery, if one is an expert in the circumstances concerned?

    As the internal conflict of Guinevere's undecided affections and the external complication of Malagant's rising comes to fruition, there is an uncanny resemblance to two philosophical trains of thought. King Arthur is a man of utilitarian thought, as his actions and decisions lend the most contentment to all. Malagant becomes a representation of egoist contemplation, as he strives to do what is best for himself and care is never given elsewhere.

    Likewise, Guinevere's decision for love symbolizes the same opposing considerations. Her marriage to Arthur would lend the most joy to all and her instinctual attraction to Lancelot is nothing more than an egoist inclination. When posed with these disparate matters, it is no surprise that one would choose solely on their own accord. If this picture would have embraced this naturalistic manner of the human spirit, with regard to its romantic facet, then the benefit could be appreciated by all.

Dracula Untold ★1/2

    Classic literature is a beautiful thing to behold. This stems from the fact that today's literary realm pales in comparison, as far as pure talent is concerned, and it surely lacks the depth of intellectual prowess that only a name such as Leo Tolstoy can summon. Characters are cherished and live on in the hearts of many while inevitably becoming the focal point of countless, and rather unnecessary, remakes and tales of a re-fashioned manner. (Needless to say, no one has dared to attempt a re-telling of a novel as highly distinguished as War and Peace.) 

    Bram Stoker's "Dracula" is a persona that has--much like his nature of being--prolonged his existence and assured his survival among the sands of time. The lore of vampires has been around for centuries, but it was this late nineteenth-century creation that spawned the modern temperament for these lovable creatures. Every "Twilight" fan owes a debt of gratitude to this remarkable literary figure.

    Yet, with this prestige there undoubtedly comes misguided admiration. How else can you designate these expendable renditions that lend redundant offerings?

    "Dracula Untold" is a film that strives to shun everything we have become accustomed to, with regard to the king of vampires, and aspires to unfold a different tale that essentially becomes a portrayal of Vlad the Impaler, an anti-hero of sorts, who warrants a dark and immeasurable power to defend his kingdom. The logic is foregone and we are ultimately left with a hollowed origin of a soul whose life was so preoccupied with death and savagery that romance and humanitarianism would seem highly irresolute.

    If there is one positive that stands erect it is the nature of the plot. The undemanding structure allows ample time for senseless violence and for a handful of scenes that would conjure sentimentality, if not for the lack of emotional restraint. The external conflict is limited to the presence of the Turks, whose military endeavors require tribute countries, such as Transylvania, to lend their young males for training and preparation for war. Of course, this would not be a complication if Vlad's offspring did not contain that pesky Y chromosome.

    Vlad's internal turmoil consists of the temptation to feed on human blood (which would have been an outstanding character study if emphasized in greater scope) and the responsibility of keeping his people safe from an immoral action. In doing so, blood is shed in numerous disparate manners and fields of men are reduced to human shish kabobs.

    This all leads to a final and quite tedious climax between our prince and the Sultan of Turkey, which subsequently becomes strained and unconvincing, especially after witnessing Vlad's powers in full force. (There is a scene in which Dracula utilizes the strength of thousands of bats, with simple hand gestures, to decimate a Turkish army.)

    Although there are many facets of this picture that vindicate the distinction of inexperience, this being the directorial debut of one Gary Shore), the setting is without hesitation the dominant shortcoming. It is limited to computer generated castles and fields of tents, containing soldiers prepared for battle, and never fully convinces us that its relevance is, in fact, pertinent. If anything, the setting only showcases the lack of characterization that our beloved protagonist can provide.

    Vlad's actions are dictated by the temporal factors and moral attitudes that prevail in this time period; therefore, molding his personality into a one-dimensional construction. He only proceeds in the manner that he does because that is what is expected of a king. Although, there is a hint of egoist thought, as Vlad seems to only care about the welfare of his son.

    Another notable vice of this inept setting would be an Easter celebration within the confines of Vlad's castle. A grand hall is limited to a modest condo, and the perception of depth could not be more compromised. A subtle technique of forced perspective would have sufficed in this particular instance, considering that when the Turks propose the donation of one thousand Transylvanian boys into their established army, it seems like an arduous task, as they would be lucky to receive one hundred from the small population presented to us.

    Structure aside, the potential of Luke Evans to headline a feature film unavoidably comes into context. Evans' career has predominately been composed of side characters and minuscule roles. Although this picture does little to cement the notion of his ability to carry the weight and burden of a blockbuster film, there is undoubtedly a sense of likelihood. Unfortunately, "Dracula Untold" could never become a breakthrough performance for any actor and regrettably this is not the actor's fault.

    Where this film fails invariably, is in its foundation. It does little to capture the essence of the character of Dracula himself, unlike "Bram Stoker's Dracula" which reproduces his sensual aura time and again. However, I believe the aim of this picture is to humanize this legend and identify him more with Vlad the Impaler. If that is true, then this could not be more of a misfire. For, Vlad is not designed to evoke empathy or any trait of heroism. He was a ruthless creature, whose life was filled with barbarism and death. To portray him as a hero, would simply be uneducated.

Transformers: Age of Extinction Zero Stars

    "Transformers: Age of Extinction" is a long-winded nightmare of a film. This commercially successful franchise has drained the joy, and substance, from the art itself, all while being fed by the mindless general audiences, who only care for simplistic, and rather vacuous entertainment. It will not be long before we are inevitably converted back to the age of grunting, and killing small rodents with over-sized clubs.

    Naturally, one would have higher expectations for this picture, considering the casting of Mark Wahlberg and Kelsey Grammer in lead roles; two established actors who share a likable personality, along with a pair of adequate résumés. Unfortunately, this misguided hope becomes nothing more than a delusional ambition, as the infamous name of one man appears out of the depths of feeble minded thought: Michael Bay, the director of the first three films--that could arguably be utilized as -torture devices for anyone who wants to obtain secretive information--has returned in this mockery of a highly distinguished role. His style is one that reeks of ignorance and a lack of aptitude.

    Bay's usage of numerous unfavorable practices, that would need to be forgotten in order to sustain even a hint of dignity, remain in the confines of this tiresome structure that fails in every aspect of film-making. Countless scenes transition from smooth grain film stock to rough grain, in an exhibition that only accentuates the lack of understanding that it takes in order to create a fluid picture. Sweeping panoramas of aesthetically pleasing landscapes are eventually drowned out by slow motion explosions and the action of the Transformers playing catch with computer generated characters flying through the air.

    One aspect that is undeniably the staple of Bay's "Transformers" career, is one of sexual perversion. The leading actress this time around (whose name is quite irrelevant) is yet again reduced to a figure of desirability and plot advancement. Her bra is deliberately shown to excite young boys, who could see a brassiere anytime they wanted in one of thousands of department stores, and many shots blatantly attempt to show off the young actress's attributes. How demeaning it must be to have to instruct the wardrobe designer to unbutton the actress's top to reveal a sufficient amount of cleavage.

    Tawdry humor, although reduced over the course of the franchise, is still present and remains ineffective. If Michael Bay doesn't know what will make a ten-year-old child laugh, then he should just ignore the agonizing compulsion to fulfill that end. The plot has shunned the popular conflict of the Autobots versus the Decepticons and has now been infused with political agendas and the United State's manufacturing of their own robot species. New Autobots are introduced, most notably in the form of a samurai; nevertheless, evoking a feeling of apathy. The "Dinobots" have the most potential but are minimized to a small portion of the film.

    The question that ultimately presents itself at the conclusion of this picture is one of conception. What do we really expect from a franchise that is based on a line of children's action figures? For starters, the story should be simple enough so that it fits in a reasonable time frame. Two hours and forty minutes is far too long for any action-oriented film, especially considering the hollow foundation of the characters. In more of a general sense: Give us some reason to care. I am not even sure if young children actually care about what happens in the film, as long as they get to see their favorite toy on the big screen.

    Besides the obvious suffering of audience's time and money, along with Michael Bay's reputation, there is a slight feeling of compassion felt for these colossal alien robots. For, they have been victimized more so than any other party. It is unlikely that these "Transformers" will see the light at the end of the tunnel; to see an adaption that doesn't focus on simple-minded action and material gratification. If making a bad picture could be considered a sin, then Michael Bay needs to repent. And soon.

Gone with the Wind ★★★★

    As the seventy-fifth-anniversary screening of  "Gone with the Wind" came to a close and whilst the audience divulged in a rousing exhibition of appreciation, a lingering sense of unrelenting elation gripped my heart and soul. Of course, this warmth does not stem from the film itself, as the resolution would warrant a profusion of emotions, most of which identify with sorrow and despair. This contentment emanates from the reality that after all these years, this picture still remains a favored piece of cinema for many, and continues to symbolize the epitome of what can be accomplished with the art itself.

    While shown in its original aspect ratio (the standard screen), "Gone with the Wind" never looked more pristine. The soft and often muted colors of the sunsets, which serve as numerous backgrounds, instills a hint of sensuality to the film--an aspect that is direly absent from the art in the modern era. The effectiveness of the utilization of rough grain (along with smooth grain) film stock is superb. It is no surprise as to why the standard screen accentuates this picture so effortlessly. For, there is no other form more powerful, than if the desire is to focus on close and personal conversation.

    The heart of this story, set in a turbulent period of history in the United States, is none other than Scarlett O'Hara. The first time we see Scarlett, being the result of a zooming close up, is a scene in which she is being engaged in conversation by two red-headed suitors. Her hair is flawless and her dress is as exemplary as she is alluring.

    We become accustomed to the character of Scarlett, through not only her appearance and dialogue, but through other character's reactions. All of the other women either loathe her or want to be her. The men cannot detract themselves from her presence, even if they tried, all while already having a beautiful woman by their side.

    Of course, without the personas of Rhett Butler and Mrs. Wilkes, the latter acting as the dramatic foil to Scarlett, our heroine would most certainly not carry the same force. Nevertheless, I will always designate Scarlett O'Hara as one of the most lethal dynamic characters in cinema history. Vivien Leigh is the only actress that could remotely emphasize the irony within Scarlett and externally provide an air of seductiveness.

    Scarlett is materialistic, yet she only truly cares for love, albeit misguided, and her home of Tara. She is seemingly ignorant and unaware, although she executes her intelligence in immoral fashion to obtain what she fancies. (This latter characteristic lends the opportunity for numerous displays of dramatic irony, which evokes a sufficient amount of laughter.) There is another character eerily similar to Scarlett in form and stature that can be found in the film "A Streetcar Named Desire." Leigh can also be found portraying that figure, in what seems to be a New Orleans visit from Scarlett herself.

    "Gone with the Wind" proceeds in two distinctive acts, the first of which, essentially becoming a coming of age tale as Scarlett is thrown into the midst of the film's conflicts. The backdrop of war and the internal conflict of identity, along with her failed attempts for love, drive this picture. By the end of the first act, Scarlett has overcome many obstacles and has succeeded in retaining responsibility for the first time in her life. However, this development is only a glimpse of what our protagonist must endure before she finally comes to the profound realization at the end of the second act.

    Rhett Butler, who ultimately becomes Scarlett's husband, is a selfish and crude individual when first viewed. He claims to "only care for himself" and reiterates the fact that he "always gets paid."  Butler is immediately captivated by the presence of Scarlett, like every other man, yet it is not for the same reasons. Butler sees Scarlett for what she is and he never pretends to be what he is not. He knows that he is a scoundrel, who profits from war, and that Scarlett is a conniving individual, who flaunts her physical attributes and gives off a feeble minded position to obtain what she wishes from others. In this sense, one could come to the conclusion that their love is pure, and that he is the first man to see through this forged facade.

    This is a film littered with symbolism and irony, which in turn, creates a marvelous foundation for success. The execution of symbolism spans from the subtle context of a war-torn confederate flag among the masses of dying and injured soldiers, to the importance of an object with regard to the structure of the film, as in the land of Tara. Rhett Butler even has symbolic acquaintances with other characters, in the form of a call girl, which becomes Butler's path to self-ventilation, and Bonnie, the daughter of Butler and Scarlett. Although Bonnie is important to Scarlett, she is more so regarded by Butler, as she becomes the only pure and innocent action he has ever yielded.


    The irony is utilized to its fullest potential throughout the picture and holds true in every facet of the word. The most notable being the dramatic irony, as Scarlett deviously attempts to fool individuals with her seemingly naive intellect. However, there is a brilliant depiction of the irony of setting, as Rhett and Scarlett embrace for their second kiss among the fiery background of tarnished Atlanta. The idea of cosmic irony also comes into context, as seemingly every attempt to obtain the love of Ashley, the man whom Scarlett desires more than life itself, brings her closer to eradication. As if some omniscient being found her shortcomings pleasurable, time and again.

    To classify a theme for this picture would be a highly subjective process. One could argue that the theme would be that of structure, as every aspect of a masterpiece has been sewn into a rich tapestry of  brilliance. However, Scarlett's self-realization suggests other themes that linger in the depths of my consciousness. Personally, I believe the theme is one of blinded fulfillment, as Scarlett has been so fixated with a man, whom she never really loved, only because he was the one object of desire that she could not so easily obtain. If I were to write this critique another day, then another theme may present itself; that is what makes this film so potent.

    There are undoubtedly only two films that come to mind when the term "classic love story" is posed. That being "Casablanca" and "Gone with the Wind." Both pictures share a dialogue heavy structure and the backdrop of war; both are historically significant and ahead of their time. To choose between the two would be futile and a waste of time and effort. Yet, any lasting image of "Gone with the Wind" is dominated by one thought. One object of fascination. There is only Scarlett O'Hara.