Thunder Soul (Mark Landsman, 2010)

Let's get one thing out of the way. If you have ever remotely enjoyed documentaries, you should see Thunder Soul immediately. There are only a handful of reasons that a person shouldn't see this film, and all of them have more to do with self righteous than they actually do with the quality of this film or the story it has to tell.

With that out of the way, let's move on. Thunder Soul is the story the Kashmere High School Band, and the reunion that would become Kashmere High School Alumni Band, and their band leader, Conrad "Prof" Johnson. They became the best high school band in the country, and one of the best funk bands in the country, high school, amateur, professional or otherwise.

The great thing about Thunder Soul is that it isn't the kind of cloyingly sweet feel good tripe that so many documentaries of it's ilk become. Is it "feel good"? Absolutely. Does it have something positive to say about it's subjects and their experience? Yes. What it doesn't do is reach for some kind of overarching metaphor about the human condition and beat the audience with some kind of positivist message. It tells the story of these people, the context in which the events it portrays take place and it always lets them speak for themselves. In that way, it becomes something the viewer can digest in their own time, and in many ways, find their own meaning in. There's a whole lot that can be culled from the experience and actions of the Kashmere High School Alumni Band, but it's up to the audience to decide what exactly about those things are most worthy of being given that time and thought. Mark Landsman has enough respect for both his subjects and his audience to leave all of that up to them.

Without doubt, this is one of the most vibrant and human music documentaries I've ever seen. Because it's not weighed down with trying to debunk or uphold a band or scene that is already enshrined in the popular imagination, it has no need to deal with the kind of sensationalism that is unfortunately is a part of the music industry to such a degree that very few music documentaries are able to tell a complete story about their subjects without contending with it. It's a warm film, without shearing off the warts of the subjects in order to present some fantasized ideal that could never exist.

This is going to be one of the shortest reviews I've ever posted. The reason for that being, that so long as you don't find good funk music offensive somehow (and I'm hoping that the number of people who still fall in that category is infinitesimal at this point), there's absolutely nothing about this doc to dislike. It's a vibrant film, celebrating the art of musicianship, community, education, and the kind of disciplined hard work that comes with doing anything as well as this band played funk music. More than being worth the time it took to watch it, I felt I didn't want it to end, which is an extremely rare quality for a documentary.  If you have any taste for documentary film, see this one A.S.A.P.

Red, White and Blue (Simon Rumley, 2010)

Let's get something straight from the very beginning. Red, White and Blue is not, at all, what it's synopsis might lead you to believe it is. It's not that the synopsis is in any way wrong or misleading, but more that writer director Simon Rumley has found a way to take that basic story and turn it upside down, inside out, then stuff the viewer inside of it and shake it all up with unremitting fury.

In mainstream studio cinema, there are certain tropes everyone recognizes and understands. Good guys make sarcastic remarks, things blow up, the bad guys get their due. It is what it is, we all know this.

Independent cinema has it's own tropes, but since most of us have spent the majority of our lives becoming intimately familiar with them, we don't always recognize them as readily. The idea of a story being built around a coincidental "intersection of lives" is indeed one of the independent film communities favorite tropes. The lives intersecting here are the "Red", "White" and "Blue"on the poster image. The result of that intersection is what the movie is about, and it goes through a few phases before it reaches it's climax, a third act that was distressing and engrossing.

This had to be an independent film. I rarely say that, but in all honestly, I can't see this film ever being made by a major studio and actually succeeding in finding it's way to release. For any audience which is easily offended or is sensitive to many of the cultural taboos that studio films purposely avoid, they wouldn't make it through the first third of this film, much less to the point where that degree of "indecency" in the films first act begins to make any real sense. The first act contains a few scenes of relatively graphic sex. It's hard to say much about it without giving too much away, but it's definitely meant to provoke a response from the viewer. It's not graphic in the violent sense, but it does present sex in a non-traditional way and it's really frank about the degree to which sex is kind of awkward and visceral, and not at all the glamorous act so often portrayed on screen. There are three different sex scenes in the first fifteen minutes of the movie, and that number of them, combined with their overall tone and atmosphere make them extremely discomfiting to watch.

Credit should be given to Rumley on this though, it's a bold decision. The majority of films (and basically any class or text about writing fiction will tell writers to do this) begins in a way that is designed to make the central character(s) sympathetic. It's supposed to get the audience to root for the protagonist or at least to see them in some light that will make it possible for the audience to root for them, to like them and sympathize with them as the film or story progresses. Rumley more or less ditches that whole idea immediately. Amanda Fuller's Erica (the red in the poster) is not an immediately likable character, to put it mildly. Fuller succeeds in making her character completely believable, and ultimately understandable by the end of the film. It's a role that definitely took some courage for any young actor to tackle, and she pulls it off extremely well. In those first few minutes there is the threat of Rumley being a condescending jack-ass who hates his characters and has constructed an obvious, hammer the audience in the head with the message movie. I was getting close to bailing out and turning it off. There isn't a variety of film I dislike more than that one, whether I agree with the general idea or message being put across or not.

Thankfully, Red, White and Blue changes tracks when the second central character is introduced, and those first few minutes of the film begin to fall into what appears to be another context. It's a genuine evolution of the relationship between these characters that begins to show Amanda Fuller's character, Eric in a new light, but also succeeds in presenting Noah Taylor's Nate (the blue in the poster) from a few different perspectives as well. What's clear as that relationship begins to emerge is that these are two extremely, tragically damaged people. Having succeeded in creating those first fifteen minutes of uncomfortable viewing, Rumley takes the discomfort in a different direction completely here. It begins to touch on and realistically portray the kind of interpersonal dynamics that these two characters would necessarily have in the evolution of that relationship, and it's hard to watch because of just how badly they navigate it. Noah Taylor is an actor many people would recognize, having had smaller parts in a number of well known films, but he's unrecognizable here. On top of that, he's fantastic. I didn't connect him with his other roles until I sat down to write this review, and when I did, I was honestly blown away. It's probably good that he isn't recognizable, because few people would probably guess the actor in those parts in those other movies was capable of what he pulls off here. The depth of intensity he portrays here is a thing of beauty. Like John Hawkes in Winter's Bone, this could be a real emergence for an actor that has been criminally overlooked. As the relationship between Nate and Erica progresses, it began to look as if the film was going to start relying on the well worn cliché of damaged people wandering an ugly, unsafe world and finding safety, comfort and love in each other. It doesn't. This isn't that movie either.

Just when it seems the film has settled into becoming the kind of recognizable story most audiences seeing it are going to expect, it changes track again. This time, it changes it's focus almost entirely, and begins to follow our third character, Marc Senter's Franki (the white in the poster). It's questionable as to whether or not Franki is quite as damaged as Nate and Erica certainly seem to be, but at best, he's a bit of a slacker and kind of lost. As his story progresses though, we're seeing him become the kind of damaged person that Nate and Erica are, and probably even more so. Senter does a good job with Franki's journey, and he conveys a combination of both vulnerability and a vague aire of being just about to reach the edge of complete desperation.

Fifteen minutes into the movie, I had no idea where it was going. Forty-five minutes in, I still could not have predicted it was going to come to the climax that it does. The thing worth respecting about all of that though, is that by the time the film does actually end, it doesn't seem false. It's not a "trick" or "gimmick" ending. By the time the film ends and the credits start to roll, it makes perfect sense. It's also not the kind of "perfect sense" in which it all just seems too neat and simple either. There were a number of different places where this story could have gone in a completely different direction.

Probably the most interesting thing about the film though, is that it ends up where it does, and all of that makes as much sense as it does because this isn't a film about people who are achieving some kind of victory at it's climax. It's a film about the mistakes very broken people make, and how those mistakes play out in their own lives and the lives of others. There is no hero here. There are three protagonists, and all three of those characters are also the antagonists. All of it makes logical sense in the context of who the characters are, and with the narrative this film is telling, that's quite a feat.

In a strange way, even as the last twenty minutes of the film are the only depictions of violence (some of which takes place off screen, and that which takes place on screen is actually both a part of the characters and integral to the overall success of the story), it's a film that really is about the question of how exactly we decide what we call violence. Why do we refer to one thing as violence, and a different act that is as damaging to a human being (in a way that is physical, but not in the conventional understanding of how we discuss physical violence) isn't called violence? All three of these characters do things that are beyond the pale of what is considered acceptable human behavior, and those acts all have serious consequences for other people. While definitely not being the kind of behavior the audience is going to condone, in the context it's presented, all of their actions make sense given what we know about the characters as well. The beauty of it being that because they are three dimensional characters, not just one dimensional caricatures, it never comes across as an empty attempt at shock or a necessary plot point to drive the story forward. It makes sense because of who they are, and from that perspective it makes it harder to judge them quite as harshly.

Red, White and Blue isn't a film for everyone. It's bleak, uncomfortable journey into the unfortunate circumstances surrounding the very understandable mistakes of three people who are damaged in tragic, heart breaking ways. What it is not is predictable tripe that any well tread movie goer is going to have a solid handle on in the first twenty minutes. It's both an extremely unconventional horror film and a deeply unsettling drama, without the normal melodrama so often found in films that try to achieve that synthesis. It's an unexpected little gem that manages to subvert expectations in ways that are completely organic and true, and to also be a deeply human story that succeeds in asking intelligent questions without being paternalistic, preachy or patronizing. Simon Rumley has succeeded in creating a very strong film with a subtle hand at storytelling and sure hand at the technical aspects as well. He'll be someone to watch in the future. You can catch this one on Netflix "Watch Instantly", but if you decide you want to own it (as I think I have), come on back and use the link. It's deeply appreciated.

Cropsey (Barbara Brancaccio, Joshua Zeman; 2009)

The most famous documentary relating to a wrongful prosecution is The Thin Blue Line. Errol Morris' 1988 documentary was responsible for a man being released from death row for a crime that he had been convicted of through a combination of overzealous prosecution and poor police work. It's not only a masterpiece of the documentary film genre, but a strong example of the degree to which the combination of film and journalism can actually do something important. Wrongful convictions, especially those which involve a sentence of either life in prison or death, can force a society to question even it's most basic assumptions of justice.

Cropsey, is a film that journeys into similar territory. It begins with what was a local legend for Staten Island, New York. The legend gives the film it's name. It begins with Willowbrook State School. Willowbrook has a storied history, beyond Staten Island that reaches into the history of the treatment of mental illness and the treatment of the disabled. Beginning in 1965, outcry over the treatment of patients in Willowbrook became a centerpiece of a movement to change the way that people with disabilities and mental illness were treated. Willowbrook State School was held up as the example of what shouldn't have ever been done, and what should never be done again. Footage from inside Willowbrook, even for someone who has spent a lifetime delving into every nook and cranny of the strange world of horror fiction in all of it's incarnations, is among the most disturbing things I've ever seen. It's terrifying, heartbreaking, and really lives up to the fullness of the word nightmarish.

In Staten Island, an urban legend had grown, and children were told to stay away from the old ground of Willowbrook, and the park that surrounded it, especially at night. They'd be told that Cropsey would come to get them. Cropsey was supposed to be either a former patient or orderly of Willowbrook that had returned there and would be waiting for unsuspecting children.

The film makers Barbara Brancaccio and Joshua Zeman both grew up in Staten Island, and even as they'd grown up in different parts of the borough, and hadn't known each other as children, they'd both been told the story repeatedly. They'd both made the obligatory pilgrimages to Willowbrook, searching for whatever it is children search for in the dark places whose storied histories frighten them. The film begins with that urban legend and then it takes on the real life events that were the basis of that legend.

As the story unfolds, a story of missing children and a community near crazed with grief and fear, it doesn't becomes more and more convoluted and confusing, instead of becoming clearer. Most of it deals with the question of guilt as it relates to the man who was arrested for the kidnapping and murder of many of the children who'd gone missing, and the story veers back and forth from seeming to point to the man as guilty at some points, and at others to suggest he might be innocent and that the actual killer may still be free. The film makers have done exhaustive work finding as many of the witnesses and participants in the searches and the investigation and covering every aspect of the case as possible. A few different theories end up coming to the surface, and being that the case took place during the Eighties, the obligatory Satanic cult theory show is suggested and was apparently even believed to be the main motive by a number of police, despite the fact that it began with a local preacher who claimed to have visions of children being sacrificed on altars. To their credit, the film makers present this as just as much a part of the original case as any other part, because at the time, it would have been, and even in the present day, there are still a number of people who seem to believe it's the real explanation and motive for the kidnappings and murders.

Cropsey really touches on that childhood fear of the stories we're told about monsters hiding in closets or under the bed. It also does a great job of making it perfectly clear just how the disappearances and the murders effected the community. Beyond all of that though, it touches on something incredibly interesting and that is important in a larger context. It touches on the way that facts and legends can start to become intermixed. It also touches on the lengths people will go to in order to create some sense of understanding the truly horrible and tragic aspects of life. The way the stories began to intertwine as facts and suspicions became almost interchangeable presents a picture almost as frightening as the disappearances and murders themselves, given the possibilities inherent in a community turning it's focus away from what it can prove to what it believes.

This is an extremely well made and deeply compassionate documentary that deals with some of the more horrifying aspects of humanity in an empathetic way that isn't demanding judgment, but is just trying as hard as it can to understand as well as it can. The result, really, becomes a film that pulls in many different topics and ideas and through that empathy never seems as if it's sloppy, reaching or ill advised or stepping over the line into sensationalism. It's a great example of how approaching a documentary with the right prospective is more important than the budget it has or just how slickly produced it is. I'd stack this up against any of the documentaries by the industries most recognizable names any day.

Prometheus (Ridley Scott, 2012)

Prometheus is not Alien. If that fact is something you can understand and embrace, walking into the theater, the chances are you're going to enjoy the two hour running time.

If this isn't a fact you can both understand and embrace, the odds are in favor of disappointment.

It's a good film. It is a very different film than the film that is responsible for the franchise. It is, in more ways than not, a much bigger, much more ambitious film than Alien. Ridley Scott is a different man now than he was when he made Alien, and there's obviously a lot on his mind. Prometheus is, in another way, classic Ridley Scott as well. Some of Scott's better films have managed to tackle Big Ideas and present them in interesting ways while also being entertaining pieces of popular art. Blade Runner and Black Hawk Down being two of the better examples of Scott's ability to tame his narrative ambitions enough to produce films that have some depth and weight, yet find their way into the hearts of people who aren't looking for little more than entertainment in a movie theater. There's a lot of venom out there for Black Hawk Down, because it gets lumped in with other action-ish films dealing with the military as a simplistic piece of nationalist propaganda, but in reality, there's a good deal more to that film than the kind of empty headed, uncritical flag waving of the films it so often gets categorized with. What it isn't, is a preaching, preening work of anti-war, anti-military or anti-government propaganda, which is often what it's detractors seem most upset with it for. Personally, I don't like to be preached at via celluloid, whether or not I find some sympathy with the sentiments being expressed. If I want preaching, I'll go to a rally or go to a church. Decent narrative art, much less good or great narrative art, doesn't need to resort to communicating to the least common denominator in order to say something worth while. Even as Ridley Scott has directed a few films that seem to have been driven by little more than bloated arrogance (I'm looking at you Robin Hood), he has proved he can direct films with Big Ideas in a subtle and deft way. 


I have a feeling Prometheus is going to suffer a similar fate in many ways, separate and apart from the fact that there's going to be a large contingent of people who are going to be disappointed that Ridley Scott didn't deliver Alien wrapped in a new package and tied in a sparkling bow made of the latest special effects. As absurd as science fiction often is when looked at from the perspective of literalism, if Scott had attempted to make Prometheus in the vein of being nothing more than a spectacle of summer movie going, it would have been laughably absurd. Big Idea science fiction can slip into being deeply, unattractively, unknowingly campy very easily, and Prometheus avoids any of that, even as there are a few moments of definite gallows humor.

Cabin In The Woods (Drew Goddard, 2012)

My first reaction to Cabin In The Woods is that I now completely understand why it sat on a shelf for three years. It's going to inspire a rabid following. The throngs of movie goers who go to see something like Transformers: Dark Of The Moon and think it's a really great movie, are not going to like this film... at all. I wouldn't be shocked if it inspires a visceral hatred in that audience. It has no interest in being that kind of movie, though I could be also be wrong about that, because on a purely visceral level, it delivers an out of control freight train of imagery and sound. Unlike a Transformers film though, it does so completely coherently. The real problem for that audience is going to be that it's going to make them uncomfortable in certain ways the majority of the casual movie going public is not interested in being subjected to, whether they're completely conscious of the reason they feel uncomfortable or not. It's all there, and even as the subtext of the film is never, for one second, ham handed and patronizing, it's there. On top of that, the unconventional nature of the narrative is going to throw them for a loop, which means the subconscious picking up on that subtext isn't going to be lulled into a quiet coma or easily ignored. The chances are pretty good that this is going to be a film with a life like that of Fight Club. It will inspire a rabid fan base among some of those who have seen it in theaters and who will evangelize for it enough that it will be a much more successful film once it's release to Video On Demand, Blu-Ray and DVD. At the same time I do think a lot of people are probably going to have a vicious hatred for this movie. 

This film does succeed in doing something incredibly rare though. It succeeds in it's narrative and pure presentation, while also being a kind of weird experiment at exactly the same time. Most films that make the attempt to do both, end up being successful with one aspect, and missing aspects of the other part in a way that is noticeable during the film's viewing. Much of what works in this film is due to the fact that it has a manically paced forward motion that does not slow down for a second. There is so much packed into this film that it's kind of astounding that writers Joss Whedon and Drew Goddard were able to pull all of it off as well as they have. More often than not, when a film is paced this quickly, and bubbles with this much energy, it's a method used to cover up the things in the film that don't work. If the film makers don't give the audience enough time to digest what they've just seen and throw some entirely new scenario, dilemma or set piece at the audience before they have time to really think about it, the audience doesn't think about it until after the film is over. If they enjoyed the experience of seeing the film, and realize later that things don't quite work or really fit together when they think about it, they're still much more likely to be charitable toward the film because the initial experience was satisfying. That's not what's happening with Cabin In The Woods. This is the kind of film that will hold treasures on repeated viewings, little things the interested viewer didn't pick up initially. The real beauty of that pace is that in this instance, there is no realization that there is this kind of grand experiment playing out (in the narrative, and also between the film and the audience) until the film is already over. If anything is going to save this film with the kind of mass audience film studios generally love to court, it's going to be the fact that the pacing and the writing make it an extremely entertaining experience. The tension and the laughs, combined with the Mach 4 speed of the film translate into something that feels at first like the most fun forms of pure cinema entertainment. Considering it later is going to reveal just how much is going on in this film, and just how well all of that works within the narrative and in the films structure.

That's just the entertainment value of the film, of which there is more than enough to go around. The real feat is that there's a smartly written comment on film making, horror films, and audience expectations deeply woven into the texture of the film and the surface narrative. That narrative subtext works just as well or better than the narrative on the surface, and for the audience that's been following the film since production was announced five years ago, it adds yet another layer by being a reflexive comment on the fact that it sat on a shelf for three years because no distributor was willing to take a gamble on it until Joss Whedon was attached to The Avengers (and having now finally gotten the opportunity to see Cabin In The Woods, I'm even more excited about The Avengers). This isn't to say Cabin In The Woods has any pretensions about being either an art film or some kind of masterwork of socially conscious film making, but that it's creative team aren't bound to the idea that film has to necessarily be either entertaining or have something else to say. It's a pretty perfect example of the idea that both can be achieved in the same film with some deft writing and direction.

Cabin In The Woods isn't a horror film, even though that's more or less how it's being marketed. It's part horror film, part science fiction, part adventure movie and part meta commentary, jam packed into 95 minutes. Lionsgate's marketing department deserves a pass on this one though, because they're not necessarily misleading the audience with the trailers and commercials they've put out. Giving away any more than they do would be a detriment to the audience experience of seeing the film for the first time. That said, in some aspects, the marketing campaign is going to work in their favor, and in some aspects, it's not. For the kind of horror audience that has a dedicated love of the genre as a whole (including literature) it's going to be one of the more exciting and thoughtful films they've seen in a really, really long time. There's been a lot of comparison to Scream in the reviews and press about the film, but ultimately, that's both a lazy and unfair comparison. Cabin In The Woods is taking a perspective on horror films closer to that which Network took toward television news. It's satire and it's commentary aren't as omnipresent, but it is very much the same kind of laughing at, making fun of and being somewhat disgusted and horrified by. Some people will probably also connect the film with some degree of commentary about reality television, and though I can see how one might find that in the film to a certain degree, it's a tenuous connection, and I think it's pretty obvious that's not exactly what the film makers intended. Like a number of the films which have attempted to make some commentary about reality television, Cabin In The Woods definitely has a few questions for it's audience, but that's a larger cultural connection not specific to either this film or reality television more generally. Tonally, and as far as the goal the film is attempting to achieve by it's conclusion, it probably most resembles Fight Club. There's some really dark humor, some shockingly graphic content, some hard questions asked of the audience that will be uncomfortable for the casual film goer, but will present some really interesting discussions and ideas for the kind of movie goer who appreciates it when a film does attempt to engage them this way and still sees film as a viable medium for asking these kinds of questions.

The performances in the film are all at least effective. There's no one in this film that sucks, and that may not sound very complimentary, but there's so much going on and the film is moving at such a rapid pace, there isn't a whole lot of time for any single performance to really shine. None of the performances feels false or out of place, none of them rip the audience out of the experience of the films narrative. Richard Jenkins and Bradley Whitford are given the best lines and the meatiest parts in the film when the narrative is taken as a whole, but even they don't have the kind of premium screen time that's going to highlight exactly how good they are in the roles they're given. They've been given the best comedic moments in the film and they're also central to both the surface narrative and the meta narrative under the surface. There's a lot of potential in a feature length comedy pairing the two actors, because they compliment each other really well, are recognizable enough to most audiences that their familiarity will convey the kind of trust an audience puts in it's lead actors, but not so recognizable they come with the kind of associations that are attached to more recognizable leading men.

IMDB has the estimated budget for the film at thirty million dollars, and every cent of it is on the screen. For your average American film in the multiplex, thirty million isn't really all that high of a budget, but Goddard makes great use of it. Considering the production values that so many celluloid crap fests churn out with a considerably larger budget, Cabin In The Woods looks and feels like much more expensive film than it ultimately was. It's packed with effects of the digital and practical variety. There are some pretty gory moments, and the third act of the film is a wonderland for horror fans, in every conceivable way. The effects are all effective and like the performances aren't necessarily meant to be eye popping or revelations of any kind on their own, but serve the story exactly the way they're meant to. There were no moments of really bad effects eliciting the kind of grown I'm prone to in a film with a budget of this size. Again, there are films with budgets twice and three times Cabin In The Woods that have much, much worse effects, both digitally and practically.

For those who might be interested in the meta narrative aspects of the film, but might also shy away from the horror aspects, don't be too worried. There are a few really bloody sequences in the film, but they Goddard doesn't linger on the gore in the way many horror films do. They have a purpose, they convey that purpose and then he's done with them. As a whole, the film skirts the line between the expectations of gore hounds and a more general audience admirably. If there's any place it might disappoint two prospective audiences simultaneously, it's in the gore aspect. General audiences will probably find it slightly gorier than is to their liking, and the gore hounds of the horror set will probably walk away having hoped for slightly more blood and bodily dismemberment. There are very few instances of violence occurring in the actual frame, so the opportunities to present gore fans with the kinds of effects they thrill and wonder at are minimum.

So who should really go to see Cabin In The Woods, and what audiences are actually most likely to really enjoy it? It's a tough question to answer. There's a whole lot to enjoy about the film. It's definitely entertaining, and isn't self indulgent enough for the meta narrative to get in the way of general audience appreciation for it. At the same time, it flouts the conventions of the horror genre (and the film many people are going to be expecting to see as a result of the marketing) in a way that's going to seriously piss some of them off or leave them feeling unsatisfied with the theater experience of the film. Others are going to find fault with the lack of exposition it dedicates to one of the larger aspects of the story. It's all there, definitely, but there's a good deal of information that's either inferred through dialog and isn't directly explained or is portrayed visually. The kind of audience that likes it's story spoon fed to it is going to be alienated by the degree to which it treats them like they should be able to keep up without all that exposition. Anyone who finds the concept of meta narratives deeply annoying, is going to dislike it.

Anyone whose taste in movies fits those descriptions shouldn't go see it. It's definitely worth seeing, and worth the price of admission, but for those audiences, it's probably best to catch it on VOD, Netflix or what ever other form they choose. It's the kind of film that's worth seeing for what you don't like about as much as for what you do.

The audience most likely to get enjoyment out of this film is the one that is least cynical about film in general. The casual theater goer who walks into any theater, hoping they're going to get ninety minutes or two hours worth of entertainment and expects nothing more, is going to enjoy it. There's no shortage of entertainment value. There are aspects of this film that are going to blow those people away, and they're going walk away saying, "Holy shit. I didn't think you could do that." The third act is going to give them something they never knew they wanted.

In a similar vein, those of us with a more dedicated love of film as something more than just idle entertainment (and that's not meant as a slight to those who do see it that way), and are able to go into a theater and hope that a film succeeds at what it sets out to do (and see anything beyond pure entertainment as an added bonus) are going to find this a really satisfying experience. There's enough going on in the meta aspect to be worth the time of unpacking it and considering it. It's well crafted and obviously a labor of love by two quixotic film makers. This audience will appreciate it for at least what it tries to do, even if they find it a little light on the more satirical commentary aspects.

Then there are two audiences who are going to have a deep, passionate love for this film. The dedicated horde of Joss Whedon fans are going to absolutely fall in love with it. They enjoy and appreciate anything he does, but this is going to really hit the sweet spot for them. It has all of the aspects of Whedon's work they've fallen in love with in the past, and it ties them together in the kind of ways they find interesting, creative and quirky. I'm a casual fan of Whedon's work. He's an obviously gifted writer, with an ear for dialog and imbues most of his work with a really big, gooey, non-apologetic heart. I appreciate and respect that, but I can't be counted among the kind of Whedon fans who were responsible for making enough of a clamor that his television show Firefly ended up getting the chance to make the jump to feature film as Serenity, and got a second network to pick up Buffy The Vampire Slayer after it was cancelled on it's first network. They are a passionate, dedicated lot that very few creative professionals are fortune enough to be the attention point for. For those folks, there are little bite sized chunks of everything Whedon has been doing that makes him distinct as a creative voice.

The other audience that is going to come away from this film with nothing but the highest respect for it is the one I probably most fit into. People who have a deep passion for film, and came to that passion through genre films, and aren't completely cynical about either. Every second of it has something that genre fans are going to pick up on in one way or another, and in exactly the opposite way that Scream attempted to do this. It's not just throwing all of that on top of a well crafted giallo type of mystery in order to say, "Hey, remember how cool all this is? Wink, wink. Nudge, nudge." It's not cynical in that way at all. It's not trying to draw ten bucks from your wallet with a passing reference to the fact that it recognizes the things that made you a fan of film and genre fiction. It's doing a lot more than that. It's speaking directly to you, about your relationship to the kinds of horror films coming out in theaters today from the creators perspective, not from the studio perspective. It's speaking as directly to a number of other types of audience as well, but the truth is some of those audiences aren't going to pick up on that fact, and some of them are either going to find it insulting or lacking in enough "substance" to be worth considering. I'm going to call bullshit on the "substance" argument right now, because there's a whole hell of a lot of substance in there, it's just not packaged in the kind of self serious way that particular audience tends to find most appealing. Like the kind of audience that is going to be irritated by the lack of exposition for certain aspects of the film, the audience that will complain about "lack of substance" in the "message" of the film like to have those things laid out for them in the most crystal clear way with the least possibility for misunderstanding, with a heavy dose of "indie," "art house" or whatever other necessary vehicle they demand to satisfy their own sense of self importance. In short, if you have a love for genre films as being truly equal to any other variety of film (and possibly more important in the larger cultural sense) this is a movie you're going to enjoy and understand more thoroughly than just about every other conceivable audience. I'll discuss much of this in more detail in the next part of this review where spoilers will be allowed.

Cabin In The Woods is one of the best horror films of the last decade and one of the best deconstructist horror films of all time.

Insidious (James Wan, 2010)

Screenwriter Leigh Whannel and director James Wan became Hollywood's go to names in the horror genre by being the team behind the first Saw film. The series went on to be the eight hundred pound horror gorilla of the pre-Halloween release weekend. For seven years, Saw dominated the box office heading into every single Halloween.

Whatever one may feel about the series, the original film was definitely something new, original and unusual when it was released. It was also pretty damned good. I enjoyed that first film thoroughly. It was well made, the performances were strong enough to push past some of the more ridiculous elements, the story was engaging and the concept was interesting. I jumped off the band wagon after the third film was released, because it was clear they weren't going to be able to maintain or return to the quality of the first film.

The Saw series was unceremoniously knocked from it's pedestal as the King of Halloween horror by Paranormal Activity. Orin Peli came out of nowhere with his small haunted house opus. It was an extremely successful exercise in suspense and stream lined, budget film making. It was also one of the most fun and awesome theater going experiences I've had since I was a little kid. My love for that original film is no secret, and the sequel may have been a better film than the first, even if it lost a little of the magic of the buzz that had surrounded the first film and helped create such an intoxicating audience experience.

Insidious brings these three new hopes for the horror genre together, with Whannel writing, Wan directing and Peli producing. It doesn't quite live up to the promise that might suggest to some people, but this isn't an altogether unsuccessful endeavor either. It's basically, a fun, silly, even somewhat scary film that recalls the tone of some of the fun, lesser appreciated supernatural horror films of the seventies, and attempts to take some of the tropes of a few of the sub-genres, mash them together and add in some new pieces. There are a number of things in the film that work really well, and some things that don't, but these three set out to do something a little different, and though they succeeded in doing that much, they weren't able to completely pull it together.

The film begins with a young family moving into a new home. Rose Byrne (recently of the very funny Bridesmaids) plays the young mother struggling to find time to work on her songwriting in between taking care of three young children and running a household. Patrick Wilson (who starred opposite Ellen Page in the phenomenal Hard Candy, number twenty on the list of my favorite films of the last decade, and a film I can't suggest emphatically enough) plays the father. The film starts out with a pretty standard haunted house set-up, that's definitely effective in it's execution. It succeeds in creating good suspense and giving the viewer a sense of dread about what's going to be around the next corner or how things will escalate next. It employs some great jump scares at it gets rolling and since I have no objection to a well placed and well executed jump scare, I found it not only effective, but fun and a good way to get the audience engaged, while setting up their expectations for what the rest of the film is going to be. They're not "fake scares" either, they are germane to the story and the narrative, instead of being a broom falling out of a closet, a camping jumping into frame or some other cheap crap. I was honestly shocked at how well the film started out.

When the film reaches the point in every haunted house film where one of the characters (Rose Byrne, in this case) begins demanding that they get out of the house, it succeeds in doing something different and subverting the expectations of any person who is well versed in the haunted house genre. Quickly following the films subversion of our expectations, it changes track pretty radically, and becomes a completely different film than the first act suggests it will be. I'm not giving anything away by saying that this isn't a conventional haunted house movie and is tied to another variety of horror sub-genre, because the trailer basically gives that all away. The trailer didn't give away the whole kit and caboodle, so I wasn't completely prepared for where the film went and it kept me guessing for a few minutes, which is to it's credit. Lynne Shaye (sister of former New Line Studio head, Robert Shaye and is a horror genre veteran who is always entertaining) shows up as a medium, and is fun as hell to watch. There's what begins as a typical scéance scene that manages to do some different, interesting things, one of which is just weird, creepy and almost kind of funny, but isn't really funny either.

Following the scéance scene, the film changes track yet again, this time morphing into another sub-genre that basically fits under the larger umbrella of horror. This is where the film suffers somewhat from the ambition of the film makers. It was unexpected, and it was ambitious, but it didn't hold up as well as the first two acts of the film. Visually, it's inconsistent. Some of it is striking and engaging. Some of it is extremely bland. The third act narrative also suffers from a lack of focus. It makes sense overall, but it's lacking in some details. They're not necessarily details that have to come from the script, but could instead use some of the visual dead spots to help flesh it out or even the sound design, which was extremely well done in the first two acts. It also introduces a new character/story element that has real potential, but because it's already the third act of the film, there's just not enough there to grab onto. It doesn't so much feel shoehorned in as it does under developed. There's a good story there, and probably a whole other, fun and interesting horror film.  

It's always disappointing when a film loses it's steam or gets on the wrong track during it's third act. An underwhelming ending can ruin a film in so many different ways, it's not even worth attempting a short list. With Insidious, the last half of the third act definitely doesn't live up to either what the first two acts establish in a narrative sense or in the degree of quality. It doesn't necessarily ruin the film though. What works in the first two acts worked well enough for me to enjoy it anyway. I essentially walked away from it feeling like it was a fun horror film, that couldn't quite live up to it's own grand ambitions.

I may have felt a little more antipathy toward this film if I'd paid full price for a theater showing, but as a Netflix Blu-ray, it was definitely worth the time. It's not something I'm going to be in a rush to pick up on BR, though I might not pass it up if it were to show up in a $5 dollar DVD bargain bin.

Drive (Nicholas Winding Refn, 2011)

Nicholas Winding Refn has already proven himself one of the most auspicious film makers of his generation. His debut film Pusher, chronicled a period in the life of a long time, small fish drug dealer in Copenhagen. Like much of the subject matter Refn seems to have a preference for, there's nothing necessarily groundbreaking, original or unusual about it. The unusual part of his films is in the actual fabric of how he tells a story, and Pusher was the introduction to his atmospheric, moody film making. The two subsequent films in the Pusher trilogy examine Copenhagen's drug world from two other characters perspectives. These films were extremely popular in Europe, and gained him some recognition from people in the U.S. film industry.

The first time the majority of us heard the name Nicholas Winding Refn, it was because of a little film called Bronson (my original review), based on the autobiographies of a man who legally changed his name to Charles Bronson, and is notorious for being the most violent prisoner in the whole of the United Kingdom. It's also the movie that introduced most of us to Tom Hardy (now one of the busiest and most sought after actors in Hollywood), whose performance was like a high speed freight train trampling the audience psyche. The film succeeded not only in being perversely and thoroughly entertaining, but also in conveying the psychology of a truly bizarre and unusual individual. It proved Refn wasn't afraid to reach beyond audience expectations of what they should see.

Contagion (Steven Soderbergh, 2011)

I was not sure what to think going into Steven Soderbergh's latest film. I think Traffic was a really enjoyable film, that suffers slightly from the level of it's ambition. It was performed and directed beautifully, but by trying to cover almost every possible angle through which one could possibly see the War on Drugs, it was just too much, and one or two of the story lines ended up seeming underdeveloped, and therefore, unnecessary. It's the kind of mistake or problem I like to see a film make. I'd rather see a film be overly ambitious and fall short some than be exceedingly successful in it's mediocrity. So, I've always given Traffic the benefit of the doubt.

Of course, Traffic isn't the only film Soderbergh has made. There were those three little movies with George Clooney and Brad Pitt, Oceans something or Seas something. There was also the first movie, Sex, Lies and Videotape, which in it's own weird way prophesied the coming of reality television, the video blog and other bits and pieces of contemporary culture. Soderbergh has made a ton of small independent films as well, even since he's become the kind of director who can get Brad Pitt, George Clooney and Matt Damon on the phone anytime he wants and can get studios to give him large sums of money to make his films. He's taken the "I make one for me and then I make one for them" model of a director's career to a new level. There's no question that the guy is incredibly talented, but I was a little bit worried that Contagion, a drama dealing with the outbreak of a hypothetical virus and examining society's reaction from almost every conceivable perspective might suffer from some of the same failings that Traffic did. I wasn't prepared to cut him quite as much slack this time either, since it's ground he's already covered.

Contagion is a solid thriller/drama, all around. The direction, performances, cinematography, and score are all very good. My only complaint about the film is essentially that the stories of many of the people we follow could be entire films in themselves. I think that given the scope of this film, the writing is very good overall, and the thing is, I want to see more of it. The best example I have is Jude Law's character. He plays a blogger who is on top of the contagion from it's first public appearance. It's an interesting character and his motivations aren't completely clear at all times. There are definitely some questions about why he's doing or saying certain things, etc. But what we see of the character by the end of the film makes sense, and fits very well in the world they've crafted within the film, which does in many ways mirror our own world very well. The thing is, I want to see an entire film about that character. I want to know how he's gotten to be who he is at the beginning of the film and see him take the entire journey to where we see him at the end of the film. In a way, I think that would have been more interesting than the small disparate pieces we get by taking such an overarching approach to the story.

Lawrence Fishburne plays the head of the CDC, and I have to say, it's great to see Lawrence Fishburne playing something that doesn't in the slightest resemble Morpheus from The Matrix. He's a phenomenal actor and for a little while there, any character that had any shade of Morpheus was getting thrown at him. This character is most definitely not the super-guru Morpheus was, and it gives Fishburne the chance to flex some of the more subtle, emotionally mature muscles that roles like that denied him. I'd even like to see an entire film focused solely on his character. What exactly does it mean to be the head of the CDC in the midst of a major pandemic? What toll does that take on a person, what strengths does it give them? There's a whole lot there that I think could be really interesting, especially in the hands of someone like Fishburne. He does a great job, and his character is one of the centerpieces of the film, but it still doesn't really convey the toll it's taking on him, personally, and by the end of the film, it's clear there is going to be one.

The one I'd probably most like to see though is an entire film dedicated to Matt Damon's character. He plays a father and husband whose wife returns from a trip to Hong Kong, complains of not feeling well, and within a few hours goes from having flu like symptoms to being dead. He ends up being immune, but the daughter that is left with him might not be, and the rest of Damon's storyline is about what he's doing to try and keep his daughter safe, etc. Soderbergh doesn't make the film extremely graphic, but there is some stuff in there that is pretty disturbing not because it's graphic in nature, but because of how true it rings and what it really suggests about society and the nature of humanity in general.

In the end, when I think about the film, that's really the only thing about it that seems to fall short at all, but at the same time, it was a little flat for me. I'm attributing that sense of it being a little flat to the fact that by going for such a widespread perspective, the film doesn't give the audience enough time with any of the particular characters to really develop a connection with them. I do recognize that by making a film like this, that's something a film maker decides to do. I don't think it detracts from the degree to which the audience is invested in the urgency of the story.

I think my main criticism of this film could have less to do with the actual film than with the overall media environment into which it's thrown. Contagion successfully attempts to establish a level of realism that is one of it's biggest strengths and possibly it's ultimate downfall. Given that we're living in an age of constant media bombardment and that the entirety of our media is preoccupied with disaster and death and that nearly everything, whether deservedly or not is presented to us as being overwhelmingly urgent, I don't know that anyone could make a film about this subject matter, steeped in the degree of realism that this one is and have it be as emotionally and psychologically effective as it probably should be.

If I really consider the possibility of a contagious disease something like the one depicted in the film were to crop up somewhere and start taking the kind of effect it would, I almost think the majority of the country and probably the world would be both terrified and completely numb to it at the same time. In the film, the societal consequences of the virus are relatively dire. I somehow just don't think we'd get upset enough about it for that to happen. Mind you, it's not that I think it wouldn't be a big enough deal to get upset about, I just think we've spent so many years now with one dire emergency (real or manufactured) after another that we'd more or less just kind of see the news coverage and say, "Meh. That sucks." Sure, we'd take precautions, wearing masks and gloves, washing our hands much more often etc., but all in all, I think we'd probably just keep going to work, buying sport utility vehicles, and living our daily routines as much as was possible.

I'm not saying that cooler heads would prevail either. I'm just more or less saying that Americans have lost the capacity to know when to freak out when we should. It's not even that we've lost the capacity to freak out altogether, because I don't believe that either. I'm more or less saying that we tend to freak out about stuff that has no real meaning and in the end, doesn't really matter, and when there are things that have consequences, have real meaning and do matter, we tend to get overwhelmed and just go about our routine, hoping someone will take care of it. I also can't really be completely convinced that there wouldn't be an overwhelming percentage of our "leaders," be they political, social, economic or religious who wouldn't see something like this as a golden opportunity to cement their positions as "men/women of the people" for the foreseeable. I mean, let's be honest here, there would be a whole rash of religious figures coming out of the woodwork to say a contagion like the one depicted in the film is punishment from God for a whole grab bag of sins and iniquities, which is almost a subliminal suggestion to those people who believe those charlatans that we all deserve to die. I don't think people who on some level believe they deserve to die are going to get quite as upset about something like what the film presents as they probably should, and in this country, that is not a small number.

So, the degree of realism the film achieves might actually work against it. At least it did for me. One of the most disturbing sequences I've seen in a film in a long time took place in another film dealing with an "infection" of the populace. In Danny Boyle's 28 Days Later, Cillian Murphy's character Jim wakes up in a hospital after England has been ravaged by an infection. When he stumbles out of the hospital, the streets of London are utterly deserted. That was deeply disturbing to me. A huge, silent London. It wasn't realistic (as many people have pointed out), because given the nature of the infection depicted in that film, there would have had to have been bodies all over the place. But there weren't. There were no bodies, no people, no animals, nothing, just London, one of the world's great city's, completely silent and utterly deserted. That disturbed me. There are a few scenes in Contagion which touch on the idea that people wouldn't be going on, so there were nearly empty streets etc., but nothing in this film was quite as effective as that one moment in 28 Days Later. I know they are completely different films with completely different objectives, but I'm suggesting this because Danny Boyle's choice (in part due to budget constraints) to step away from the steely realism much of the rest of his film relied on worked perfectly and helped create a really iconic moment. Contagion, because of the degree of realism it chains itself to never produces any moments like that, and really, much as I imagine a real world would react to the situation it presents, becomes a well produced, technically strong film which doesn't really suffer any gaping holes in it's quality, but is still more or less forgettable. If it were the real world, and we were struck with a contagion like this one, chances are very good that within fifteen years, it would be forgotten in every way except for science textbooks, lecture halls, the occasional news cast and the private pains of people who'd lost loved ones. I'd go so far as to say that in our actual real world, it wouldn't take long at all before a great many people were using the entire incident as a way to create an entire industry of more panic, more urgency, misplaced blame and accusations in order to enrich themselves.

In truth, I guess what I'm more or less saying is that as bleak a situation as Contagion suggests, the real world is an even bleaker, darker place, and the film suffers because it glosses over that. And in that, it's unfortunately extremely standard.

13 Assassins (Takashi Miike, 2011)

Takashi Miike's films are often an acquired taste. His portrayal of graphic violence and sexuality, combined with his love for unusual narratives driven by even more unusual characters has made him a cult favorite here in the States. Miike is a film maker who has made a reputation by holding nothing back and by approaching every taboo with the gleeful attitude of a rebellious teenager giving the finger to the high school principle. His skill behind the camera, and his prolific output are nothing short of amazing though, and those talents have earned him the kind of respect other film makers who approach the same subject matter and portray it as graphically are consistently denied. He has succeeded in taking what is often considered exploitation and turning into both what his audience craves and what critics still consider "art". It's no small accomplishment.

Still, he has so far been pigeon holed as a genre/exploitation director, especially here in the States where our faux cultural sensibilities tend to be offended by the celebratory tone Miike tends to embraced when presenting the most graphic material. 13 Assassins proves beyond the shadow of any doubt that Miike is more than a one trick pony and that he not only makes great films for an audience that appreciates his brand of balls to the wall, no holds barred cinema, but that he can hold his own with any film maker (living or dead) that is considered a more "serious" artist. To put it bluntly, 13 Assassins is a great fucking movie. Period. Full stop. It's not a great cult movie. It's not a great action movie. It's not a great drama. It's a great movie, all around, incorporating pieces of things Miike has shown he's capable of before, but this time putting them front and center.

13 Assassins has a place among the great samurai epics in film history, from Ran to Seven Samurai to Samurai Rebellion to Yojimbo and so on. It succeeds in telling a compelling story using interesting, intelligent characters and a visual style that is spectacular in it's simplicity. It suffers from neither the weepy, syrupy, over baked emotional manipulation often at play in even the more successful dramas, and also succeeds in that it avoids the pitfall of having a cavalcade of wooden, emotionless drones performing feats of action movie heroism which are devoid of anything but empty spectacle. It is earnest, straight forward, and impossible to take your eyes off of. The small, quiet dialog scenes are as mesmerizing as the action.

The film benefits from a cast that misses nothing, making every scene worth the seconds it takes to tick by, giving the audience believable, strong characters who feel more as if they are the result of a piece of non-fiction research than a fictional writers imagination. They simultaneously seem to have their own full histories while also being completely spontaneous in each moment. They don't all share the same amount of screen time or importance in the story, but none of them ever feel as if they've been tacked on to add some dimension that would otherwise be missing from the story or the other characters.

By the time the action begins, it's already been established that these are characters who have dedicated their entire lives to the discipline of the samurai code and have spent that time both in practice and studies. When the film's big action set piece takes off, there are no feats of superhuman strength or ability, no wire work or C.G.I flying. It's a group of men who have spent their lives preparing and planning for a moment like this one, and because that's been so well established, everything in the scene is believable and because we've spent the time we have with these actors portraying these characters so well, it has weight and meaning. It's not just a blood and guts spectacle. Miike doesn't spare us many of the gory details, because he's Takashi Miike and he never shy's away from the gory details, but again, it's not the kind of scene that highlights the effects or the gore. It's always about these men and this story, and because of that, it is spectacular.

Takashi Miike has made a full fledged samurai epic of the variety which hasn't been seen in decades. In many ways, it's a lean story. There's no love interest here. There's no modern sensibility to the characters attitudes or actions. There's no hidden subtext or allegory about the modern age. There's definitely a subtext about power and the ugliness it breeds in humanity, but it's a universal idea that could belong in any age. It's that quality, the utter indifference to traps and cliche's of modern storytelling that makes 13 Assassins a humming, churning steam engine of cinematic beauty. In 1954, Akira Kurosawa set the standard for samurai epics by making what is arguably one of the greatest films of all time, Seven Samurai. Miike hasn't made a film that is equal to that, but he's done what might have otherwise been considered impossible by getting in the ballpark.

I highly recommend this one. Get your hands on a copy, soon. It's available via Netflix Watch Instantly, but this is one I'd suggest watching on Blu-ray if you're internet speed isn't up to carrying full 1080p HD. It's shot with such a natural beauty that it's worth waiting a few days to see it in it's full glory. I'll leave links for purchasing the DVD and Blu-ray below. I'm going to pick this one up for my personal collection, immediately.

Rise of the Planet of the Apes (Rupert Wyatt, 2011)

I was not very excited when I began reading that there was a new Planet of the Apes film in development. The possibility of yet another reboot, sequel, prequel or just about any new film made from the bones of a classic genre property seemed to me like a guarantee for yet another sub par film exploiting an audience loyal to the original material or property. And if we're all honest with each other, the original film was the only one worth it's salt in the first place. The sequels were certainly fun for genre fans, but they weren't very good movies. The original film hasn't stood the test of time all that well either, but it's charm and it's place in the cannon of science fiction films earn it some nostalgia points. Tim Burton's remake or reboot or whatever the hell it is that thing is correctly referred to as, was just flat out boring. All of this combined with the number of horrid remakes and reboots being pumped out now just added to the fear that Hollywood was going to take another really great science fiction concept, dip it in shit and serve it up to those of us who are genre fans as if it were a delicacy.

I was right to be worried, and right to be wary, but as the credits rolled, I really loved Rise of the Planet of the Apes. It is definitely the best of the "big summer movies" I've seen so far this year, and I've seen a number of them. I haven't written reviews for any of the other films because I didn't really walk out of those films excited about them. Sure, Captain America made me a little more excited about The Avengers, but I didn't walk out feeling as if I wanted to go sit right back down in the theater and watch it all over again. Rise of the Planet of the Apes made me want to sit through it again, as soon as possible. It might be heresy to say it, but in pure film making terms, it surpasses all of the previous films in the series. It will probably not find it's way into the hearts of fandom the way the original film did, but it's definitely a more well crafted film. The original film definitely has charm, and I don't love it less having seen this film, but anyone with the least bit of objectivity can admit that the script was somewhat clunky, and even as it's part of the charm, Charlton Heston's over the top performance hasn't lent the film credibility over time. The performances in this film are just better, hands down, and though there are one or two pieces of the script which could be stronger, they never distract from what works in the film. Beyond that, if this had been one single film unto itself, with no connection at all to the previous films, I don't think I would have enjoyed it any less or any more. It is able to stand on it's own and still be a movie that is damn good and borderline great. It gives a few cursory nods to the other films in the series and the mythological cannon already established, but would be as good as it is without any of those films ever having existed and audience members who may not have seen them will still find this an entertaining and fully satisfying experience.

For those who aren't familiar with the basic storyline of the film, a brief synopsis should cover it. Rise chronicles the birth, childhood, maturation and even rise of Caesar. Caesar is the offspring of a chimp which has been brought to a lab in order to be used for testing a new viral treatment for Alzheimer's disease. James Franco plays Dr. Will Rodman, the genius behind this new treatment, whose father (John Lithgow) is afflicted with the disease. Franco's new treatment is supposed to restore brain functions that are lost to Alzheimer's. Caesar's mother is given this treatment, and since she has been recently captured from the wild, the lab staff have no idea that she is pregnant. Caesar begins to show unusual intelligence almost immediately, and Franco's character realizes his treatment does more than just restore brain function for those who have lost it to some degree, it will enhance brain function for those who have suffered no loss. Caesar advances extremely rapidly, becoming more than a pet or a project, but a fully realized character within the narrative of the film. Make no mistake, this is Caesar's film. He is it's center and it is all about him. Everyone and everything else in the film are part of his journey. For those of you familiar with the series, you can probably guess where this eventually goes (though you would be hard pressed to figure out how without seeing the film or reading a more in depth synopsis), and for those of you who may not be, it is a journey most definitely worth taking.

Director Rupert Wyatt manages to make the audience care about Caesar, a character that essentially has no dialog in the film. On top of that, this is a character that is 100% C.G.I, and it works. WETA digital has done some really amazing work in creating the ape characters in this film. Because they don't speak, everything has to be communicated through expressions, and shockingly, through the eyes. For a few decades now, one thing digital effects have failed to do is to give characters eyes that don't look lifeless and hollow. No matter how good effects have been so far, they just haven't been able to get that part of a living being correct. With chimps, being higher primates and as close to humans in appearance as they are, anyone who has seen pictures or footage of real chimps knows that there is something eerily familiar in their eyes, as is true of many of the great ape species. The effects are actually used in service of the characters and the story, which is one of the reasons Rise is as good as it is. Wyatt and the screen writers succeed in putting the audience in Caesar's corner because he is a fully realized character, and a really well written character at that. His growth from infant to child to fully matured adult is played subtly, with small steps of his journey being taken throughout the film. One of the strengths of Caesar's story is that it isn't necessarily a story of inevitability. He becomes what he becomes as much because of what he encounters as because of his own innate intelligence. Fate doesn't make him what he becomes, but it's not the story of a character being forced down his path by his antagonists either. Caesar is an active character, whose reactions to the characters and circumstances he encounters are part of what eventually make him the ape to lead the others out of captivity, but it's evident that he is making the decisions to take the steps that lead him there. And he's also not portrayed as some kind of wild eyed revolutionary. He decides to lead the apes out of captivity, not because of some kind of zeal for human destruction or the kind of irrational megalomania that infects most of human history's revolutionaries, but because it is the best option for him and his fellow apes. It's not even a very grand revolution, in terms of it's scope. It's an attempt to reach safety and a peace and place of their own. Mind you, Wyatt and company manage to communicate this with Caesar only using sign language on one or two occasions through the entire film, everything else is communicated through body language, facial expressions, and the holy grail of digital character effects work, the eyes. Andy Serkis deserves special recognition for imbuing Caesar with a real soul and being able to make the character the perfect blend of human intelligence and animal physicality. Creating Caesar this effectively is more an act of teamwork that probably any other kind of character in film, and with that in consideration, it makes it all that more astonishing how well done it is. Many people had to have been at their absolute best to pull this off.

James Franco delivers a good performance as the man who is more or less responsible for Caesar's evolution and as the man who raises him. His desire to find a cure for Alzheimer's combined with the humanity he brings to his relationships with both Caesar and his own father (Lithgow turns in a good performance as well) make his actions completely understandable. In it's own way Rise is a Frankenstein story as well as a story of revolution, and Franco is the scientist, but in this version he's not overcome by the arrogance that categorizes so many of the other scientists in these kinds of stories. His motivations are more sympathetic, and more heartfelt. Maybe it's part of the difference between creating a character completely out of thin air and creating a character using the kind of motion capture technology used in this film, but Franco's interactions with Caesar are always very centered and real. Part of the reason it's so easy for the audience to buy into Caesar's character is because of the way Franco interacts with him. He probably won't be winning any awards for a film like this, and it's not the kind of character that usually draws that kind of attention, but he's done some really good work in this film.

The only real shortcoming in the film is that it's "villains" are pretty one note and aren't very well fleshed out. They aren't villains in the sense that they are even particularly out to stop Caesar from taking the each step in his journey or that they are particularly fixated on him as the protagonist. This is the type of villainy created more out of the fact that they don't give a damn about Caesar in any particular way. He is essentially property, and he is seen as and treated as such. The villains in the film, from an executive at the company Franco works for to two animal control officers (played by Brian Cox and Tom Felton of Draco Malfoy fame) are either just empty, money hungry suits or cogs in a much larger machine that is broken within itself and allows them to exist within it because of that. Along the same lines, Frieda Pinto is saddled with the unfortunate role of obligatory love interest for Franco's Will Rodman. She's a beautiful woman, no doubt, but her talents are wasted in a role that really only seems to be there to help give Franco's character someone to talk at. I say "talk at," because hers is the character that is used in order to have things explained on occasion. It's not constant, which is to the films credit, but when the writers or the director felt it needed to be done, she's the one either having things explained to her or doing the explaining. She the dumb audience character. In other words, she's the character in the film because there are going to be some members of the audience who are just too dumb to keep up with storytelling that isn't explained step by step and piece by piece. Because Caesar doesn't speak, this is possibly the most visual storytelling we've seen all year, and definitely all summer it wouldn't otherwise be explained in dialog, it's all in watching the characters. And unfortunately, as much as I hate to admit it, Hollywood seems to be right when they assume some people are just not quick enough to keep up with that kind of storytelling.

The writers do deserve specific credit for earning the big moments in the film. Because this is a more character driven film than an action/adventure, there aren't many spectacular sequences meant to marvel the audience, but there are a number of great character moments. Caesar's character, the other apes, James Franco and John Lithgow's character's are well drawn enough that those moments feel like they've been earned and they feel organic. They never feel as if they've been hastily thrown in there in order to keep the narrative moving on to the next necessary scene. There's one in particular that got a great reaction from the audience because it was both completely unexpected and completely earned. The trailers and the television ads have of course given away the fact that there's a big action sequence in the film involving apes running all over the place fighting with humans, and it too is completely earned, not only by the rest of the film, but through more of those small character moments being peppered throughout that particular sequence as well. It feels both as if it is what has to happen and also as if it's happening organically and as improvised as the story suggests. Rupert Wyatt deserves a nod for being able to craft a film that is as character driven as this is, and that handles it's big action set piece with an equal amount of skill. It's an exciting sequence that creates tension by using those character moments in it's midst, but it doesn't over power the rest of the film. I didn't walk away feeling as if the film didn't use it's best aspects as much as it should have. It's not as if the film seemed like it would have been stronger, more interesting or more exciting if it had had more action. I walked away feeling like it was pretty perfectly balanced.

Fans of the original series are going to be wondering where this film fits in with the mythology already established in the other films. It's definitely a prequel. The first three films in the original series made reference to Caesar, the first ape with the ability to speak and who lead the apes to create their society. It plainly contradicts the fourth film in the series, Conquest of the Planet of the Apes, and to some degree Escape from the Planet of the Apes, the third film in the series. Even as Conquest has been my second favorite in the series, that doesn't bother me one bit, and essentially, Rise is not only a better film, but it also makes more sense in relation to the first film. The truth is that the first three films often contradicted each other about how the apes came to be the dominant species on the planet. When taking all of the information presented by each of the films, it becomes clear pretty quickly that the progression of the films and events makes no logical sense, what so ever. Rise not only functions as it's own stand alone film, but by being an origin story that does take at least the original Planet of the Apes as the material it has to match up with, we end up with a much more logical origin story, and essentially a much more intelligent and sympathetic origin. Conquests story of apes having been turned into household slaves and Caesar emerging from hiding after his parents had come back in time through the same means that had catapulted Charlton Heston's character forward, is at best convoluted, and at worst, completely ludicrous. Conquest was my favorite of the original series, right behind the original film. As an allegory, it's pretty cool, but as a film it's pretty ridiculous and all in all not as well made as Rise. Rise also provides a new and different explanation as to how exactly it is humans wind up in the subordinate position that Charlton Heston's character finds them in the original film. All in all, Rise does pretty damn great job of tying up a number of loose ends left by the original series and working over the aspects that were vague or completely nonsensical.

The final question is whether or not this film sets up for a sequel or another film in the Planet of the Apes world. It does and it doesn't. This film deals very specifically with one small portion of the larger story, Caesar's rise, and that's really it. It gives hints and clues in connection to other things, but it doesn't necessarily play as if it automatically assumes there will be another film. It's been relatively successful on opening weekend, so there's a good possibility there will be another film, but it's not something that the film makers seemed to be immediately assuming or taking for granted while writing or making this one. It doesn't show the fall of humanity, the establishment of ape society or any of those things, so there is room for another film in the logical sense. On a personal level, I thought Caesar was a great character, and I could be interested in seeing what the next part of his journey is, but that's really the only thing I can see garnering my interest in a sequel. I can see some possibility for an interesting character driven sequel in the way that Caesar and the apes deal with the fall of humanity and what their reaction to it is, but at the same time, I don't necessarily need to see a sequel either. I'd rather not see another film than see a film which tramples on what's been done so well in this one.

I can suggest this film to basically everyone. If you're not necessarily a fan of the original series of films, this stands on it's own enough to be engaging, enjoyable entertainment that you won't regret having spent the ticket price on. If you are a fan of the series, I think this film is good enough on it's own for you to enjoy, even as it seems to throw some of the original cannon out the window. I think fans of the original series may enjoy it particularly because of how well done it is and because it doesn't just seem like a cheap, easy way to cash in on their love for the series. Go check it out, soon.

Hanna (Joe Wright, 2011)

I have to confess that I haven't seen director Joe Wright's other films. I have it on good authority that Atonement was a fine film, and worth seeing, but neither Pride and Prejudice or The Soloist are at all attractive to me as ways to spend two hours. Now that I've seen Hanna, the possibility of me sitting down to watch more of Wright's work has been multiplied by an exponent of about forty.

I was trying not to expect much from Hanna. The trailer suggested the film could either be a tired action film, attempting to throw a bone to an older audience by mixing in some aspects of the old school spy thriller or that it could be something fun, and a little bit different. I'm extremely happy to report that it ended up being the latter, instead of the former.

It's the story of a young girl (Saoirse Ronan, a name I wish I could figure out exactly how to pronounce) who has been raised in a sub Antarctic forest wilderness by her father (Eric Bana) who has spent his entire life training her for the day she would return to civilization, because a high ranking C.I.A officer (Cate Blanchett) wants her dead. I'm not giving anything away that the trailers don't, so don't worry. The fun of the film is figuring out why the C.I.A agent wants this young girl dead, how the girl succeeds in staying alive, and in how she begins to navigate the "civilized world."

Cate Blanchett, Saoirse Ronan, Eric Bana and Tom Hollander (who is great in his role, though the only gay film stereotype older than the "hilarious gay friend"stereotype is the "psychopathic gay hit man") all give excellent performances. It's unusual to come away from a film and feel there could be entire films dedicated to any one of the characters, and that they could on their own being of equal quality, independent of the original film they appeared in. I'd actually be interested in seeing a film that focused on any of these actors playing the characters they have here. Even as Tom Hollander's role is relatively small in comparison to the others, and a tired old stereotype, he brings an energy and sense of unpredictability to it that I enjoyed. Cate Blanchett, Eric Bana and Saoirse Ronan manage to ground their characters in a sense of reality by giving them all moments that wouldn't fit in a film more typical of the spy/action genre. Cate Blanchett seems to savor the opportunity to play a powerful villain and she is to give the sense that her character is doing what she is for both professional and personal reasons, while never becoming the kind of shrill, shrewish female antagonist lesser, lazier films lean on. Eric Bana is one of those unfortunate actors who has a well of talent to draw from, but has chosen some really bad films in the past, and as a result his star hasn't risen quite as high as it probably could. He's able to play a pragmatic, practical, but still warm and somewhat sentimental father with real grace and vulnerability, which though it would seem counter intuitive, adds to just how dangerous the audience believes his character can be to the films antagonists. There's more to it than the idea that since he has raised and trained Hanna, who is a bad ass, so by the time the film concludes, it's clear that he's the only one who really understood the stakes involved.

Saoirse Ronan is fantastic. She is able to completely sell the confidence, competence and ability she's developed to live in a harsh wilderness without a hint of doubt. Out in the woods, she's an almost preternaturally self possessed young girl, chomping at the bit to have some independence from the disciplined regime her life has been. When that time comes, and she's then set loose into a world full of other people and the "mod con's" of the world, she's equally believable in being bewildered, dumbstruck and socially awkward. One of the things that sets Hanna apart from other films of it's kind is that it embraces the fact that it is not just an action film, but also a coming of age tale, and it makes some interesting connections back to the fairy tales which are the narrative forefathers to films like it. Ronan deftly manages to convey all of that in her performance, and be the believable, sympathetic center of the film, while also being completely believable as a well honed killing machine.

The thing about the narrative which is most interesting to me is that Hanna seems to have been constructed as a coming of age fairy tale first and foremost, and an action movie second. By having this much of a focus on character, primarily through Hanna's relationship to the other characters and the world she inhabits, it succeeds where two of the much talked about and hated actions films of late (Sucker Punch and Battle: Los Angeles) fail. The action in the film is an integral part of the story, and does actually further not just the plot, but also presents the moments or reasoning for moments of particular growth in Hanna's character as well. They're not just thrilling, well choreographed and shot action sequences, they also relate directly back to the whole reason the film exists, to follow this young girl on this journey. Where Battle: Los Angeles failed every single time the action stopped and the script had to take over, Hanna has some strong character moments that are endearing, funny, and at some points, kind of sad and disturbing. I also think in many ways it succeeds in being the kind of empowering film Sucker Punch wanted to be. It succeeds because it is relatively simple and straight forward, actually focusing on the characters by making the action related specifically to their motives very directly. Where Sucker Punch seemed to be lost and muddled by it's own grand ambitions, Hanna presents a compelling story of a young girl, trying to find her own identity, realizing the man who made her who she is in the beginning of the film isn't a perfect man, and at the same time that he actually did do everything he could to prepare her for what her life was going to be. The way the film mixes that metaphor of the coming of age tale into it's narrative, while also referring to it very directly sometimes, is more adeptly and deftly handled than most action films ever consider, much less actually even attempt. There are also some great references to The Brothers Grimm throughout the film, in both the script and some unexpectedly beautiful set design. These help to distinguish Hanna from so many of the other films that attempt to traverse the similar territory, because those fairy tales were in many ways, very much what this story was in earlier times and what the many like it are today. In this case, Cate Blanchett is the Big Bad Wolf, but the Woodsman isn't coming to save our central child character, she has to save herself. And, even if she had left a trail of breadcrumbs, this Gretel wouldn't want to go back to where she came from anyway. The thing that does come directly from those old fairy tales is the lesson of the journey, beginning with the parent who is less than perfect (though he doesn't toss his child in favor of his new wife, which was so often the case in those old fairy tales). 

Technically, it's superb. While it's closest relative in a narrative sense is probably the Bourne films, Hanna has a visual style that almost couldn't be more different. Where the frenetic camera work and fast pace worked perfectly for The Bourne Supremacy and Ultimatum films, this is a much more patient film, letting almost every scene play out in full frame, but at the same time is never inducing boredom. Presenting the action in steady cam, dolly shots, and fixed frame actually helps to build tension and suspense. It's an action film, with a classical visual vocabulary, creating beautifully framed and composed shots even in the midst of the action. There is one sequence that is much more stylized than the rest of the film, and at the time, I almost thought it seemed out of place, but as the film progressed, and then in thinking about it afterwards, it isn't at all out of place, so much as it is a visual representation of the setting and the element of the story it's depicting. It's the only piece of the film during which there was a definite sense of a directors hand, and it's visually stimulating, interesting and something different than what we've seen in the many other scenes which depict something very similar. To that end, Hanna manages to be a really engaging action film on the technical level, with an ever so slight touch of art house flair that works incredibly well. Joe Wright has presented a piece of work which is disciplined and entertaining in all of the right ways and all of the right places, while also being visually appealing and cinematic in the more positive connotations of the word.

The score for the film is drop dead, knock out fun. The Chemical Brothers were among the electronic artists to rise to the top of crop in nineties, and they've reemerged with the score for Hanna proving they aren't relics from a lost time. Their music adds an entire dimension to the film can't be understated by rounding out and complimenting all of the areas the film works well. It's not just background, adding a sense of atmosphere, but it doesn't overpower the visual presentation or the character aspects of the film. It's almost it's own character in the film, because it's never a cloying, pandering piece of scoring that seems to be trying to give the audience emotional directions. It's reminiscent of their other work, while also seeming to be tailored specifically for the film. It works for many of the same reasons Trent Reznor's score for The Social Network was successful, and it's also extremely listenable as it's own creation.

I doubt that Hanna will be the best film I'll see all year, but I don't doubt that it is going to be one of top ten or fifteen films of the year, and possibly the best film with as heavy an emphasis on action. I can definitely suggest this film to anyone. I wouldn't be shocked if there were some folks for whom it is not "exciting" enough and that can't get on board with the idea of a petite fourteen year old girl being a bad ass, dropping C.I.A thugs like a Charlie Sheen sitcom no matter the explanation the story provides, but I would be shocked if many folks who would feel that way about this film are my regular readers. I would also suggest checking Hanna out in theaters for a few reasons. First, it is visually interesting enough that a even a big screen T.V. isn't quite going to cut it (especially that more stylized scene toward the middle). Second, the score deserves to be heard properly, thumping and jerking very loudly. Last, supporting films like Hanna in the theaters and helping to make them profitable suggests to the studios that there is an audience for films like this. I have no doubt there is an audience for this, probably a relatively large one, whether or not they show up to the theaters is the question.

I'll say one last thing about Hanna, I very rarely walk away from a film and feel I would really like to see a sequel. I walked away from Hanna feeling that way because I think the way her character was handled and portrayed, both in the script and by Saoirse Ronan, leave the opening for a film surrounding exactly what becomes of her following this ending that could be equally as good. Because she's spent her entire life living in a forest wilderness, there could be a really interesting story in how this girl makes her way into society, at fourteen years old, without the benefit of a guiding force, but with an extremely interesting set of capabilities and talents.