An overly madcap, mildly amusing but eventually tedious comedy about a pathological liar (Matt Damon) turned whistleblower. While the movie is no great shakes, Damon’s performance is excellent, and he manages to inject some humanity into what is a butt-of-a-joke, one-note character. Given his performances from The Talented Mr. Ripley through The Departed, Damon seems never to be given the credit he is due.
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A good old fashioned heart-tugging, crowd-pleasing weepy, and Sandra Bullock’s brassy performance is perfect for the material. The actor who plays “Big Mike” has a devastating mixture of nobility and tenderness and there are some very funny lines (Bullock’s husband – “Who would’ve thought we’d have a black son before we met a Democrat?”).
A strong war film that came under a little fire for its fantastical representation of one soldier’s experience in Iraq, circa 2004. Admittedly, the action sequences of the ace bomb detonator (Jeremy Renner) are over-the-top. But the sequences are exciting and director Kathryn Bigelow gets the blinding, washed-out and arid feel of urban Iraq right.
Renner, who was nominated for Best Actor, is the weakest link, but only because he is too broadly written. He’s just a cowboy and to the extent he resonates, it is solely as reflected by his team members (Anthony Mackie and Brian Geraghty), who are both awed and mighty pissed off at his danger-junkie b.s. Their performances, as guys who just want to do the job well and get the hell out, are riveting.
By the end, the film finds it necessary to spell out what is painfully clear, from the opening Chris Hedges quote (war is a drug) to a stateside scene with Renner and his baby where we hear Renner tell the infant (because we might not have gotten it) that he only loves one thing (danger). Oy vey.
Bigelow’s direction, however, is expert, she can masterfully craft battle with all of its hectic bursts and then tedious monotony. Better, there are very short cameos by actors who can present forcefully with little screen time (Guy Pearce, David Morse, and Ralph Fiennes).
Moon. This is a deservedly celebrated film by David Bowie’s son, who must have been influenced by “Space Oddity” and Major Tom as a child. It’s a thoughful, affecting story about a man finishing a 3 year stint on the dark side of the moon (where, in the future, we get all of our energy) and preparing to come home to his wife and child. He discovers an awful secret. It’s a tight, engrossing picture and Sam Rockwell is particularly good as the main character, Sam, who is aided by his computer ala’ 2001, voiced by Kevin Spacey.
A gut-busting, literate comedy about the run-up to a fictitious war (clearly meant to be Iraq) and the involvement of US and British civil servants in the process, which includes vicious political jockeying, abusive message control, mendacious leaks, pettiness of the grandest of scales, and biting insults. Armando Iannucci’s script was rightly nominated and proved to be the forerunner to the hilarious HBO series, Veep.
In many ways, it echoes the British The Office, with politics supplanting paper. The repartee’ is smart, crackling and hilarious. The film is a series of verbal jousts, this one, on the eve of a critical U.N. vote, being my favorite (Of course, Malcolm Tucker – Peter Capaldi – is a personal hero):
Tom Hollander (Pirates of the Caribbean and scene stealing as King George in HBO’s John Adams) is brilliant as a British minister out-of-his-depth and made a pawn, and James Gandolfini, a you can see above, is also memorable as an American general trying to slow down a march to war.
I was teed up to hate this picture, given how juvenile and overpraised Quentin Tarantino’s last offerings were (the Kill Bills, and the truly execrable double feature, drive-in homage). Those movies were the toasts of critics yet belied all of his worst qualities – excess, self-regard and juvenilia.
But Tarantino returns to his sweet spot here, with crackling dialogue, edgy and beautifully crafted set pieces, and a brisk pacing, comic but not immature. It’s a clever and exciting popcorn film, anchored by the actor who plays the primary Nazi baddie (Christoph Walz) with such relish, you near root for him.
Great fun, and yet, highly intricate and accomplished. The shootout scene in the French cafe’ basement is one of the most tense and exciting I’ve ever scene on film. A worthy Best Picture nominee.
I watched 40 minutes, which was 40 minutes too much. Michael Mann’s last picture – Miami Vice – was bad in exactly the same way Public Enemies is bad – all mood and cool, beautifully photographed, and as interesting as a super model on a talk show. Within 20 minutes, we learn all we would ever learn about our lead, John Dillinger (Johnny Depp). He is cooly attractive, wear a suit well, lives for the moment and . . . he is cooly attractive.
Moll: What do you want?
John Dillinger: Everything. Right now.
Blech.
The sharpest of satires. Aaron Eckart is slick motormouth and p.r. flack Nick Naylor, a smooth and ingratiating shill for the tobacco industry. In his rise, fall, and semi-rise, the film’s message – think for yourself because there’s money and power in letting folks tell you what is good for you, be they corporate behemoths or self proclaimed protectors of the common good – is hilariously delivered.
As Naylor struggles internally with selling death, the fight is not a one way dawning. It goes 15 rounds and the preening self-regard and power seeking of the do-gooders is contrasted with the soulless, rapacious greed of the baddies. It’s a close run thing, and an enjoyable fight to watch.
Indeed, this movie should be required viewing for every ex-hippie who now clamors to ensure that his or her child live a risk-free life, at the expense of everyone who might otherwise own a gun, light a smoke, have a drink, eat a transfat, shout an obscenity or injure budding self-esteem.
I mean, we know the corporations are bad, as exemplified by my favorite line from the film, from the President of The Academy of Tobacco Studies (played by J.K. Simmons):
We don’t sell Tic Tacs, we sell cigarettes. And they’re cool, available, and addictive. The job is almost done for us.
Unnecessarily convoluted but pretty creepy, it’s too bad this movie – which melds the historical ghost story of The Changeling with the silly modern fright of Videodrome – isn’t better. Director Gore Verbinski (The Mexican, Pirates of the Caribbean) lards on more and more ridiculous plot twists and dumb plot contrivances that eventually, the pictures sinks under its own bloat.
The plot is simple: if you see a particular videotape, you get a phone call, and then you die in 7 days. Reporter Naomi Watts gets on to the story, incredibly and laughably finds and watches the tape, receives the call, and wham! – we embark on a race to find the origins of the tape, going to places that make very little sense given where the tape was found. During the process, Watts shows it to her ex-husband and then, is so negligent, she allows her spooky son to see it as well. One shudders to think what would happen if she had a gun or her sex tape in the house, but either way, you’re not loaded with sympathy for this dimwit.
What follows is no more than hints and allegory as the story gets more cockamamie and out-of-control.
It’s also pretty hard to be scared of a VHS tape. As observed by the estimable Aldous Snow:
Roman Polanski won best director and Adrien Brody won best actor, so I expected something special. I was disappointed. The story of a Polish pianist and his grueling fight for survival during the Nazi occupation (and extermination) of Warsaw depends on one caring for the lead (Brody). And to the extent one cares for any human made to endure unendurable suffering, the film carries you through. But it becomes more of an assignment than an enjoyment. Brody is a blank slate in freedom and notoriety (he is a well known musician), and he becomes even less interesting during the Nazi occupation (most of which he spends hiding in apartments provided to him by sympathetic non-Jewish Poles).
The picture is beautiful – the scenes of a devastated Jewish ghetto are particularly memorable. And the slow, desperate demise of Brody’s family, who incur one withdrawn right after another while managing to stick together, is affecting. But the film is 150 minutes long, and the family loses its struggle about half way through. That leaves us Brody. He is not enough, and soon, the film becomes tedious and stubborn. Many characters help Brody (from an old flame to fellow musicians to a Nazi collaborator to a Nazi officer), but we don’t get to know them. Polanski is content to stay with Brody as he becomes more emaciated and desperate, and in the end, little more than a caged animal. To the extent Polanski wants to demonstrate that even through the most awful of horrors, people can survive and return to the pre-horror life relatively undamaged, The Pianist succeeds. But as drawn in the film, it’s a minor success.
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