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.

No Good Deed ★

    "No Good Deed" is a worthless and aimless film, in which one could attach numerous other synonyms of the like to describe its incompetence. Its misguided attempts to thrill are trumped by an inept exercision of direction, acting, and a plot that would make even a B-horror film cringe.

    This is without hesitation the most idiotic picture of the year. Its presence is purely ignominious and rightfully so. For, if blunders of this caliber were commended, then everything we know and love about the art of film would be deemed trivial. Our time on this Earth is relatively short-lived and if Hollywood is going to continue to squander this utmost dearest period of our existence with asinine examples of film-making such as this, I will inevitably slip into a state of comatose.

    If you are here to receive a plot summary, then you will not be disappointed. (It is the only distinguishable facet of the film.) For, what happens or what takes place, is all this picture can yield. The only indication of characterization comes in the form of external action and uninspired dialogue. By the time the climax proceeds, there is no discernible reason to care.

    Colin Evans is a "feared" convict up for parole. During the parole board meeting, he is denied this opportunity to once again rejoin society--this also becomes the first demonstration of director Sam Miller's lack of experience, and ultimately, talent. The camera shifts uncontrollably, and rather unflatteringly, between speaker and antagonist, in an attempt to catch the reaction of Evans after seemingly every other word. (It is noteworthy, that the same effect could be achieved without the herky-jerky camera movement.)

    Our underdeveloped prisoner escapes confinement and steals a truck, only to wreck it during a late evening storm. He makes his way to a secluded home where he receives aid, or one could classify as a good deed, from Terri, a distraught married mother of two. She brings him in, dries his clothes, and indulges in routine conversation. Evans then proceeds to carry out a plan of revenge, the motivation of which is brought to our attention by film's end; however, it is much too late. Our concern is already lost and patience is already misspent.

    The remainder of the film, which plays out as a bad soap opera, consists of the heroine hitting Evans with household items and running. He recovers, and the cycle begins again. The atmosphere is created by a repeated utilization of thundering sound effects. We understand that it is a dark and stormy night; how much thunder do we really need? There are a plethora of other thoughtless actions and decisions that I care not comment on.

    In the end, "No Good Deed," which sounds like the title of a bad philosophy paper, cannot overcome the brainlessness at its core. Audiences nationwide should be ashamed of themselves, considering "Forrest Gump," a timeless classic and sentimental masterpiece that justifiably received an IMAX treatment and twentieth anniversary release, could not even reach the half million dollar mark. The other film in the discussion has already tripled its lowly budget of thirteen million, which would consider it a commercial success.

    There is a juncture in the picture in which our protagonist, Terri, asks her captor when the torment will end. I couldn't help but to contemplate the same notion, albeit under different circumstances. I have previously equated films such as this to a cesspool of unimaginative thought. However, in this particular situation, I believe that distinction would be too flattering.

The Maze Runner ★★★

    As the box office reign of  "Guardians of the Galaxy"  and "Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles" inevitably comes to an end, it lends the opportunity for another film to shift to the forefront and attempt to stimulate audiences nationwide. "The Maze Runner" is a science fiction tale that fulfills this elementary requirement, and it functions quite well considering the youth of the cast and the lack of experience in director Wes Ball. (This being his first feature length picture.)

    However, any film whose cinematic concern relies heavily on the intricacies of the plot, there will inescapably remain imperfections in other facets. Thomas, our naive and courageous protagonist, is never completely rounded out as a dynamic character. (Although, in the end, we can discern his, albeit diminutive, development through the effects of the major conflict.) His personality is derived from other character's memories and via distorted flashbacks that shift through dreams of his own.

    A less than quintessential tactic to understand our hero; nevertheless, sufficing here. In fact, Thomas' dialogue is starved in an effort to flesh out the personas of the other boys who inhabit this post-apocalyptic future, where no life seemingly exists, and where the obstacle to freedom is a towering maze. (For those of you who necessitate a plot summary, please bear with me.)

    There is Alby, the leader of the "Gladers," who serves his purpose as guide to Thomas. Newt, the second in command, who understands Thomas' train of thought and subsequently becomes a friend. Chuck, a young boy who warrants the comparison to "The Goonies' " Chunk without the annoying tendencies, operates as a mediator to the group. Additionally, Chuck essentially becomes the audiences' relative body to the film, as he is virtually tied to the ramifications of his peers' decisions and cannot escape the action. Lastly, there is the foil in Gally; a young man who highlights the few qualities of Thomas' that we are aware of through his extremely opposite approach to thought and action.

    The plot is simple enough to be expressed in the time allotted and complex enough to keep us puzzled until the end, where, unfortunately, all continuity is lost. An entity is collecting the youth of our nation and, month by month, sending them up into the "Glades," a small grassy area within the center of an impenetrable maze. All is routine and peaceful until a young boy named Thomas is sent into this enigmatic realm. His curiosity and pure stupidity give rise to numerous events, some of which justify consequence, all of which spur the plot further.

    Thomas aspires to be a "runner," an elite few within the group who run the maze and memorize the layout for future reference. Circumstance gives him the chance to complete his aspiration and persuade most to enter the maze to escape. A young girl who is designated as the last to be sent in, seemingly for procreation purposes, strengthens Thomas' resolve and sends these adolescents into the final stretch.

    "The Maze Runner" excels in a few aspects of its construction, and, therefore, it becomes noteworthy. Suspense is littered throughout the film and, although much of it stems from the "closing" of the maze's walls or characters squeezing through tight spaces, it never fails to entertain. Another notable scene of suspense includes the banishing of one member of the clan after he had been stung by a "griever," a mechanical creature that resembles an amalgam of a spider and any other unsightly organism that you can think of.

    Furthermore, a youthful cast projects an ambiance of quality acting and provides a solid experience. The other significant character in the picture--the maze--is constructed well enough to avoid a complete debacle. It towers, it is intimidating, and it actually consists of several features of movements and variations. Without these characteristics, we would be bombarded with a larger than life depiction of a "Temple Run" video game.

    Although the concluding scenes of the film could logically exist within the confines of the plot, they are unflattering to say the least, and they diminish the continuity of the picture as a whole. Humor, which had been relatively absent, is suddenly introduced in a tawdry fashion; emotional restraint, which had been exercised successfully, is completely forgotten. There is a point where the film could have effortlessly ended and relieved us of these unmotivated scenes of ineptness. They were overdone, and it was a costly mistake.

    While a sequel has already been slated for a September 2015 release, one has to wonder what Hollywood deems as commercially successful. I guess a weekend in which the picture earns back its budget fits the bill, even if it is the only such time in its run.

    I will remain adamant about the notion that "The Maze Runner" is the best film that this story can conjure, unless, of course, subsequent installments prove otherwise. The dramatic irony that is introduced in the denouement of this origin tale will ultimately dominate the sequel, and this is never a sure-fire way to create dramatic effect. After all, in subsequent treatises, the maze will be departed and another conflict must prevail. What good is a maze runner with no maze to run?

Natural Born Killers ★★★★

 
     "If I was a mass murderer, I'd be Mickey and Mallory." So implies a young man featured on a commercially successful television show, that highlights the careers of America's hottest homicidal participants. This fatefully menacing couple are the center of  Oliver Stone's eleventh directorial ambition. One that glorifies senseless violence, all while making a profound statement of its own.

     This picture is littered with an array of disparate film techniques and tactics, which create an unforgettably frightful ambiance. Stone douses his characters in red and environments in green. Symbolism and extrinsic metaphors are fruitful and flourish within the confines of the plot. Variations of color, black and white, and animation are tamed into a spectrum of free flowing conflict. A dissension that underlines the intricacies of the relationship between freedom, society, and the media.

    Essentially, however, this picture goes beyond its cold blooded killers and provides an issue of individual versus society. Or the media. A line only of thin stature could separate the bond of these two distinctions of humanity. Stone manipulates television sitcoms in a dark satirical fashion, and even addresses television viewers, while portraying its dehumanizing proclivities.

    Our characters are even more of an extension of Stone's argument. Domestic violence and child abuse fuel their, often misguided, intentions and has molded them unfit for society. Stone accomplishes the act of feeding us this information by usage of haunting flashbacks and simple symbolic acts. Such as placing The Belle Jar in the hands of a young and absorbing Mallory.

    The often rudimentary plot is straightforward. Mickey and Mallory fall in love, and intend to take their frustrations and anger out on the external world in which they live. They kill until their hearts are content and bicker at one another, as if they have been married for decades. After much bloodshed, the dynamic duo stumbles across a Navajo rancher and his grandson. This scene lends the opportunity for several symbolically induced images and even some effortlessly interpreted meanings. Such as the projection of the Native rancher's thoughts on the young newlyweds, "too much t.v."

    Eventually, they are captured by a sadistic example of character irony in detective Jack Scagnetti, who moonlights as a vicious human being that kills for gratification. The last third of the film rests in the interior walls of a prison facility, and focuses on a live television interview with Mickey. It is conducted by Australian journalist Wayne Gale, enthusiastically portrayed by Robert Downey Jr. , and is to air during halftime of the Super Bowl. A gig that most entertainers only dream of obtaining.

    Mickey and Mallory's incarceration allows another character to make his mark. Warden Dwight McClusky is an eccentric and high blood pressured individual, who condemns our two protagonists and will not rest until their death becomes truth. Tommy Lee Jones is simply unforgettable in this role of domineering power and authority.

   What message is Stone trying to convey with this picture? He takes stabs at numerous schools of thought and even has the time to poke fun at two films that star Al Pacino. His prejudice is clear, although his motivations may never be. As mentioned above, the symbolism is so rampant that it would take one several viewings to transition from an intuitive grasp of ideals to a firm enlightenment. One thing is for certain, the style of this picture is historically significant.

    As for the violence that has supposedly been influenced by this picture; I must say that it is not surprising, as it is undoubtedly tragic. Although it has been over fifteen years since a documented homicide has referenced the film, we have to face the reality that film does influence. And that may even be constituted as an understatement.

    Whether it takes the form of a child imitating his favorite on screen superhero or an adolescent engaging in murderous acts like their cinematic role model, it will happen, and often. Blame cannot rest on the shoulders of a filmmaker for exercising his American right to create a film with fictional characters and events. Fault should lie with the accused. Even a young adolescent must know the difference between fiction and reality. If you honestly believe going on a murder spree will propel you to fame and glory, as it did Mickey and Mallory, then what hope is there for peace? Luckily for humanity, ignorance is not contagious.

Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone ★★★★

   
    As this indolent induced era of summertime drifts into oblivion, one can't help but to reminisce on films of day's past. The dog days of summer have been infused with blockbuster pictures, offering nothing more than a vapid level of entertainment. This period of the film industry has dwindled away and left us with a reduced intellect, along with a slothful mind. Autumn cannot come soon enough.

    When we think back to films of recent memory, ones that have touched us with their warming grace, a story of a young boy, with little knowledge of his individuality, seeps into the consciousness. "Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone" is the first film in a franchise that has since swept the world with its amazing characters and adolescent intrigue. A masterful combination of environment and atmosphere set this origin tale above all the rest of its breed.

    The delightful exposition begins on a darkness enshrouded night on Privet Drive; a seemingly quiet and serene suburban neighborhood that could not have been better depicted, even if Norman Rockwell had painted it himself. Our glimpse of first life comes in the form of an elderly man, whose beard can be used as a timeline of a vast string of memories. He pulls out a contraption that inexplicably captures the light of the street lamps. Thus, an indication that this is not your ordinary tale.

    Next appears a small cat, who certainly isn't what she seems to be. Our feline morphs into an older woman, who permeates sophistication and elegance. Lastly, a motorcycle comes into sight from above. Hagrid, a tall and bulky man who would fit the profile of a Paul Bunyan progeny, swoops down and delivers our protagonist in style. Harry Potter is to be left with his aunt and uncle. Never to hear of his past or future. Of course, until the time is right.

    As the younger years of our main hero are to be a magical experience, (with a family-oriented ambiance) the choice of direction, in this case, couldn't have been more ideal. Chris Columbus, a man who has birthed captivating films from "Home Alone" to "Mrs. Doubtfire," brings his distinct brand of imagination to a film that seeks to defy the constraints of reality. Columbus never fails in his exercision of the artistic semblance of truth, as he successfully creates a world that has never existed and, most likely, never will.

    The exterior shots of the Hogwarts Express, chugging along to the school of witchcraft and wizardry, are the most aesthetically pleasing scenes of the film. And the institution itself, becomes a home to our young Harry. Where peers are fatefully befriended and bonds are everlasting.


    Secondary characters are introduced in unforgettable fashion. Most memorable being the personas of Severus Snape, the overbearing and intimidating professor, and Draco Malfoy, who pleasantly serves the purpose of dramatic foil. Severus Snape is a name built to impose fear, as the pronunciation essentially mimics the words of sever and snake; a brilliant tactic of name typing. Malfoy is also extremely utilitarian, and accentuates the qualities of Harry masterfully.

    Harry Potter advances through his first year of education with an external conflict of competition, stemming from the brutish game of Quidditch and the rivalry of the disparate houses to supernatural villainy. Internally, Harry battles the uncertainty that surrounds his existence, and his feelings of contempt. Thereby, implanting a theme of the struggle for identity. A most promising premise for a picture of this caliber.

    John Williams, a name that I never tire of hearing, creates a tone of elation with his ingenious and beautifully performed scores. The quality of his work, by this particular moment, has pervaded films for decades over. Ne'er lacking in enchantment or refinement. I have witnessed countless performances that would not have been as formidable, if not for the underlining tonality of Williams' genius.

 

    Of all the fine art forms that this external world has to offer, the art of film is the only one that is bound by its collaborative nature. One individual would never be able to fulfill the requirements of a task such as making a motion picture. From set designers to assistants to the director, "Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone" is a collaboration that warrants the skills of numerous intellects. Much like the circumstances of the film call for the various expertise's of our three main characters. (Hermoine sufficing for intelligence, Harry for courage, and Ron for good company.)

    The brilliance of "Harry Potter" lies within the character himself. His relatability to any child is what makes this picture excel. What child wouldn't want to imagine himself or herself stepping into the extensive halls of Hogwarts, where the surroundings are filled with the symbolism of life, both literally and figuratively? (Many of the paintings can converse, and others become a mirror of actual occurring events. My favorite of which, is a painting of four wizards sitting roundtable, as Harry and others also have an intense discussion.)

    What child dares not to imagine themselves at the sorting hat ceremony or involved in mischief with close friends? The answer would be relatively minuscule. For, it is in the instinctive nature of children to project themselves into the role of their favorite lionheart. A technique that Harry Potter invariably succeeds in. After all, he's "just Harry."

Forrest Gump ★★★★

    In the vast world of cinema, there are pictures that are built to bring us joy for just a fleeting period of our existence. Their run is often short lived and becomes nothing more than a grain of sand in the hourglass of time. On the contrary, are films that are constructed to endure. To remain in our consciousness, even if thousands of pictures are released henceforth. "Forrest Gump" is undeniably categorized with the latter.

    As this film justifiably receives its twentieth-anniversary release and an IMAX treatment, we are transported to a realm of pure euphoria. The rich characterizations that touched our hearts so many years ago are brought to life on the silver screen once more. A warmth that has not been felt for years on end is now present again. And what a feeling it is.

    Instead of droning on about the plot of the film, which is inescapable with regard to a new release, I will discuss what makes this picture a lasting portrait of splendor. With a sufficient amount of symbolism, a convivial soundtrack and score, and a remarkable theme of character, "Forrest Gump" reassures its position as one of the greatest experiences of all time.

    Straying away from a linear structure, our story begins "in media res," or in the midst of things. As Forrest sits patiently on that famous bench in Savannah, Georgia, to catch the number nine bus, he divulges into past events of a glorious life that has seen moments of agony, confusion, and unrelenting happiness; a film has never been better suited for flashbacks.

    His journey from adolescence to adulthood has been accompanied by unforgettable personalities. Lt. Dan Conner, a strong presence over the duration of Forrest's life, begrudgingly becomes the dramatic foil, which brings Forrest's traits into a bold spotlight. Lt. Dan is extremely conscious of his destiny, a notion that our main character can never fully grasp, and has a pessimistic view of the world. Opposed to Forrest, who seems to find joy where it would most certainly seem forgotten.

    Jenny, the love of Forrest's life, is a dynamic character to say the least. She roams the countryside searching for answers and ingests the various drugs introduced through the decades to fill the void that her abusive childhood inevitably created. Her attraction to Forrest is complicated and is never fully realized until time had taken its toll. (This may be due to her feelings of disdain and the thoughts of unworthiness.)


    Within these contexts, Forrest absolutely becomes one of the most lovable characters in recent memory. His lack of understanding and situational awkwardness lends the opportunity for a respectable dosage of humor. These distinctions also pave the way for several heartwarming, and even disheartening, scenes in which Forrest is shown the harsh facets of reality.

    "Forrest Gump" is littered with symbolism to support the boundaries of its design. The bus is a terrific depiction of new opportunity, appearing whenever Forrest transitions from one phase of his life to the next. Whether it is the beginning of his school career, a stint with the Army or the passage into fatherhood, a bus becomes the vehicle of metaphorical conveyance.

    Additionally, there is the white feather. Its presence at the beginning and the end of the film warrants some level of recognition. Its subtle approach through the air of this fictional realm, through traffic, and ultimately into Forrest's personal space, symbolizes the frailty and delicateness of life. A conviction that Forrest touches upon in one of the most beautiful scenes of the picture.

    There is no discernible "major" conflict in "Forrest Gump." His trials and tribulations can be related to any real living human being. The death of a parent, the loss of a spouse, and ultimately, the search for identity. "What's my destiny mama?" A question Forrest desperately asks his mother on her bedside. A question that is never really answered, although one can come to their own conclusions.

    One of the most brilliant aspects of this film includes the utilization of the stock characters, who sit beside Forrest and indulge in his stories of glory, loss, and innocence. They also reside in his tales. The female college roommate, who overhears an intimate moment. The barbershop patrons, who continually seem dumbfounded by breaking news on the shop's television. The drunken simpletons, who taint Jenny's dream of singing on stage.

    Robert Zemeckis has crafted a brilliant picture and his motivation is clear. We are not meant to simply view Forrest's life, but become a part of it. This becomes evident during a confrontation between Forrest and Lt. Dan in the wounded barracks. The camera swings around the bottom of the bed, as they interact on the floor, settling under the bed at a side angle. Thus, giving off the feeling that we are eavesdropping on a private conversation.

    The performance of Tom Hanks need not be discussed. His acting will speak for itself. Hanks will always be Forrest Gump.

    This is a film that I hold dearly to my heart. It is a film that I can view every day and never persuade myself that its repetition would bore me. My favorite scene involves a recollection of Forrest's, as he sits beside the bed of Jenny. It is accompanied by some of the most aesthetically pleasing scenes I've ever laid eyes upon.

    The key to "Forrest Gump" is its expression of humanness, and essentially, emotional restraint. This is very important to any picture that defines itself as a serious drama. This quintessential performance of this element places the sentimentality at hand in a position to succeed invariably. It never fails to reach out and grab the audience by their emotional cord and never let go. It creates a feeling that you never want to end.

The Land Before Time ★★★1/2

    Hand drawn animated film's golden years have most certainly passed. Their days of arousing excitement from audiences young and old are just a glimpse in the eye of today's film industry. Computer generated imaging has essentially placed hand drawn animation into a stranglehold that kindles the term "obsolete."

    Nevertheless, there was a time when technology did not influence the entire production of a picture. A time when passion and ingenious storytelling overwhelmed the ideals of advertisement and quick development. "The Land Before Time" is a gem of a picture, that released at a stagnate period in the world of Disney. Thus, lending the opportunity to charm audiences worldwide, before the inevitable Renaissance era would effortlessly evoke amnesia of such films in the minds of us all.   

    The plot that encompasses this picture is filled with despair, confusion, and hope. Littlefoot is born into a dying breed of dinosaur. His frightfully thin family consists of a loving mother and her parents. Cataclysmic events have tarnished the beauty and fruitfulness of the Earth, resulting in a migration to the "Great Valley," an imagined oasis that rests far from natural devastation. 

    If there is one aspect that fuels this film, it would be the rich characterizations that accompany Littlefoot on his journey to tranquility. Ducky, a small but courageous young dinosaur, is a beloved example of leitmotif, as she continuously repeats the phrase, "Yep, yep, yep" to express her pleasure in a given circumstance. Cera, an adolescent Triceratops, serves her role as the dramatic foil to Littlefoot. She is opposed to collaboration and utilizes her head as a ramming device, rather than a vehicle of contemplation. 

    Additionally, there is the personality of Petrie. A prime example of irony within the confines of character. Petrie is a flying dinosaur, who is frightened by the thought of actually executing this action. (Visualize a shark, an animal born to kill and eat their prey, who is terrified at the idea of devouring meat.) Petrie is also a pleasant illustration of name typing, as his name mimics the word of "petrify," which summarizes his persona unequivocally. Lastly, there is the character of Spike. A newborn dinosaur who exercises the technique of caricature, by placing an emphasis on his insatiable appetite. 

    "The Land Before Time," the original film that spawned a highly successful franchise, excels in providing a dialogue that meets the necessities of young children. Instead of issuing terminology that would be lost even on the minds of mature adults, the film describes the breed of dinosaurs that compose our characters in an innocent fashion. The expressions of Longnecks, Three-horns, Spiketails, Swimmers, and Flyers are utilized to supersede the often complex, and considerably unpronounceable, names of our prehistoric counterparts. Even the ferocious Tyrannosaurus Rex, the external conflict in this particular treatment, is reduced to the name of "Sharptooth." 
     
    Don Bluth, along with the producing efforts of George Lucas and Steven Spielberg, has instilled this picture with a subtle display of symbolism and theme. The tree star that Littlefoot's mother gives to him symbolizes hope, and the reminder that harmony is only a small journey away. The theme of loss of innocence is touched upon, but can never fully prevail over the plot driven atmosphere. Littlefoot's consciousness cannot withdraw from naivety or childish actions. 

    There are heartwarming scenes, the best of which, feature Littlefoot communicating with his mother in the afterlife. Humor is plentiful and tasteful--a facet of modern day children's films that have become rather tawdry in an attempt to please the masses. 

    With the dying art of hand drawn animation lingering, (there is currently only one man who still executes this art in a professional manner) these films from the past take on greater importance. Although Don Bluth became an afterthought of the Disney company, his independent projects remained as the only competition to the mega corporation's efforts. This is due to the fact that his writing ability, along with his splendid imagination, provided a remarkable mood that fascinated the young at heart. They simply don't make them like this anymore. 

Pathfinder ★★

    "Pathfinder" is a 2007 plot oriented film that begins with a rather illogical and bold declaration. It is learned that six hundred years before Christopher Columbus stumbled upon North America, a dastardly group of Vikings came to shore, hell-bent on slaying the native culture to purify the land and claim home. This picture is the story of one man, who rose to the occasion and fulfilled the prophecy that would save a civilization.

    A moment of history, that if recorded, would become an indelible and heartwarming memory.

    Unfortunately, this fantasized tale of destiny and fate becomes nothing more than your commonplace action film, complete with underwhelming characterization and a lack of enthusiasm. This is a picture that knows its intention, and still cannot provide enough substance to counter the brutality of its actions.

    Our history lesson begins with an inferior utilization of symbolism. A white stallion becomes the focus of this highly celebrated technique of filmmaking, although it is never efficiently charged with the attitudes and feelings that would warrant success. We are effortlessly told what this creature provides to the context of the film, and then hurled into the intricacies of the plot, which summarizes the film unintentionally.

    We are never meant to think for ourselves. A notion that comes hand in hand with a film of this caliber. We are to be bombarded with action sequences until our intellectual thinking process cannot be conjured any longer. In this respect, this film is a complete triumph.

    A young boy, who is found by a native villager among the wreckage of a Viking ship, is adopted and becomes a member of the "people of the dawn", an early Native American tribe. His adolescence is never indulged, and we are brought to his adulthood at a tumultuous time. "Ghost", a name that suits him quite well, has no identity and is mystified by his existence.

    To make matters worse, Ghost has fallen in love with Starfire, a beautiful woman from an aligned tribe. However, these matters are hardly of significance, as the external conflict of the Vikings arrives rather quickly and plunges this film into constraints that it could never conquer.

    The marauders, a walking group of clunky and oversized armor, attempt to astound us with their blatant symbolism of death, in this particular instance in the form of a raven, and their sound irony. They characterize the Natives as "savages", although it is obvious who possesses these qualities.

   The film progresses into a non-stop barrage of sword fights and confrontation. The suspense is strived for in several scenes and ultimately falls short. An imperfect exhibition of direction includes choppy camera movements and a spasmodic usage of color experimentation. The picture seems to adjust color temperament throughout, adding to the ignorance of its cause.

    Karl Urban leads a cast who are devoid of all emotion and left with a minuscule dialogue to boot. Ghost is a character, who by the end of the picture, finds his purpose. Sadly, this repossession of identity is lost among any consciousness, as his under developing personality justifies a cold shoulder. There is no reason to care.

    Throughout the history of cinema, action films have become a favored experience simply for their entertainment value and escapist mentality. I have reiterated the notion numerous times that these elements alone cannot define a picture. After all, if every film's intent were to merely amuse, there would be a significant loss of intellectual capacity among the minds of humanity.

    Roger Ebert, an inspiration to myself and arguably the most influential film critic of the 20th century, always reserved the notion that it's not what a film is about that makes it good or bad, but how it is about it. Thus, a belief that the supremacy of structure or form is the forefront concern of any criticism. A belief that I have adopted as the foundation of my analysis of the art of film. "Pathfinder" simply does not have a constructive form suitable enough for its motivations. 

Firewall ★

 
    Bank security is an onerous profession. Of course, I am not referring to the tangible security in the form of a guard or officer of the law. For, the twenty-first century has evolved the bureaucracy of the banking world to a virtual level of existence, featuring the utilization of wire transfers and mobile transactions. How did we ever conduct our banking needs without technology?

    "Firewall" is a 2006 thriller that incorporates this cyber technology into the age old deed of bank robbery. Harrison Ford, an exceptional veteran actor who remains engaged in projects even today, stars in this underperforming film that features poor acting and a subdued atmosphere. Ford's inadequate performance turns a bad picture into nothing short of a nightmare.

    Jack Stanfield is the IT security chief at Landrock Pacific Bank in the beautiful, yet drab city of Seattle, Washington. He has a lovely wife and two children, consisting of a young boy and teenage girl and lives in a luxurious house hand crafted by his spouse, whose labor is that of an architect.

   We can deduce that Stanfield is passionate about the security system that he has implemented for this small banking chain and that he is a family oriented individual, through the dialogue of his own and other characters; two characterization techniques that can effortlessly inform us of our protagonist's disposition.

    The conflict, which serves as the driving force for any film, becomes an externally personal struggle of two opposing wills. Thus, the ingenious bank robber, who orchestrated the ransoming of Stanfield's family, will stop at nothing to blackmail Jack into transferring an absurd amount of money (in this particular instance $100 million) into his offshore accounts. Where have we seen this premise before?

    Although it is quite accurate that thrillers often times defy logic to create a plot which permeates suspense and action, this notion does not pertain to this specific film. "Firewall" executes this formula in a completely reverse position. The idea that an IT security chief for a lesser known bank could be extorted is not improbable, just quite unlikely. The shortcomings in this sense involve the deficiency of suspense and lack of substance in the action sequences.

    Jack's incompetent attempts to derail the schemes of our criminal mastermind have no concrete ramifications and can never spur the plot where it needs to go. He fails. He's threatened. He tries again. Jack's half-hearted efforts to thwart the opposition only succeed with the aid of a cell phone and a GPS tracker in his dog's collar. Two conveniences that would not have been present a decade earlier in this timeframe.

    Harrison Ford has been the focus of numerous pictures of this stature, most notably as the persona of Jack Ryan. His ordinary appearance and likable personality give him the advantage of persuading the audience into the realm of conceivability. (An IT expert may actually imagine himself as Jack Stanfield.) Nevertheless, Ford has lost his allure in this manner and gives a jaded performance, which is evident in several painstaking scenes, including when Jack begrudgingly fires his quirky secretary.

    "Firewall," a title with no real significance, would have only been saved by a strong showcasing from Ford, which unfortunately never came to fruition. The supporting actors never hold serve with their roles and the external action is limited to the confines of a bank and Jack's home. This all leads to a tedious climax that features a sixty-three-year-old Ford engaging in hand to hand combat. When the credits roll, the feeling of exasperation subsides.

    With a modest revenue obtained from the box office (although compared to the failings of today's films, a $20 million profit is respectable) and another $20 million in DVD purchases, "Firewall" proves that Harrison Ford can still attract audiences. The word escapism once again comes into context. However, if viewers honestly feel that this film relinquishes them from their everyday nuisances and provides an exuberant experience, then there is little I can do for them.

   There is an abundance of Charlie Chaplin pictures that would better fit your entertainment appetite.

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles ★

    In the realm that is film viewing, there are three easily identifiable types of spectators: There are the countless individuals who savor movies purely for their entertainment value, the diminutive amount of souls who still regard film as an art form and the medial folks whose position lies somewhere in-between these categories. Alas, "Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles" is a 2014 picture that gives rise to a timeless dispute that pits recreation versus fine art. (Meaning, should we grade the above-mentioned picture merely as a form of amusement, considering its relative goal and aim, or do we still view it as a constituent of the art of film? Well, I'm afraid that even a combination of the two concepts results in a poor showing here.)  

    Now, regardless of the rationale that will send masses scurrying to the steering wheel of their automobiles and into the dimly lit theater of their choosing, this is a picture whose existence cannot be justified by the notion that its sole intent is to entertain. If anything, these genetically mutated heroes provide a wearisome cinematic experience, and, as an exhibition of art, it utterly lacks any sense of passion.

    The plot is simplistic enough and would be recognizable to anyone who has seen even a glimpse of  "Turtles" material. April O'Neil is a Channel 6 news reporter (based in New York City, an ideal destination for a list of heroes) who spends her time delving into the risky business of investigative journalism. Although, to be frank, her work would hardly be as prominent as the likes of Carl Bernstein or Bob Woodward.

     Meanwhile, the Foot Clan—servants of the turtles' archnemesis who have been reduced to mere soldiers with rifles in this unimaginative rendition—are terrorizing the city under the command of the villainous Shredder. This leads to an inevitable meeting between the turtles and O'Neil, as April makes it a habit of investigating the activities of the poorly named group of lackeys. With a nod to the original film, there is a very brief description of the turtles' beginnings (provided by the father-like figure in Master Splinter) and a kidnapping that will see these four brothers face-to-face with The Shredder on a New York rooftop.

    Megan Fox is quite forgettable as the passionate reporter April O'Neil, a character whose backstory has now become linked to the turtles. Fox is an actress who got her "big break" via the success of the "Transformers" franchise, and she certainly gets her chance here to shine in a dialogue-heavy role. Unfortunately, Fox can never fully grasp the quirkiness of her character, and she ultimately provides yet another dumbed-down performance.

    Instead of commenting on the unsightly designs of our four protagonists and their lovable Master Splinter (I'm afraid the film's realistic approach to the turtles' look comes off as offensive and downright displeasing), I will reminisce on my experience with these so-called Ninja Turtles.

    As a child growing up in the 1990s, there was nothing more intriguing than the "Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles." Children of the baby boomer generation had Superman to fixate on and to imitate during imaginative roleplaying. For anyone who was born in the late 1980s, or beyond, had the Ninja Turtles. Their appeal is highly subjective, yet they remain as an avenue for interesting conversation. I've collected an excess of memorabilia—including the original graphic novels, which tend to depict these heroes in a much darker tone.

    With a foreseeable sequel already scheduled for a 2016 release, the hopes that this interpretation would be short-lived are dashed. The original feature film portraying these four brothers will undoubtedly remain as the finest depiction, and, when it's all said and done, this film becomes nothing more than a product comparable to that of "The Next Mutation," a Turtles spinoff that was as bland as it was forgettable. This Turtles revamping has embraced a culture that I simply do not understand.