Alienation in Young America

These atrocious acts of violence, performed by middle-to-upper class young men say more about our younger generation than gun control. However, the gun control issue does need to be addressed. How in the hell does an affluent youngster purchase a semi-automatic weapon? Tell me, because I have no clue. I think there needs to be more consideration than a standard background check. In fact, a convicted felon over the age 35 has equal or more merit to purchase a gun than a white male under 23, who has never been arrested. Don’t you think? Whether or not you’ve been convicted for a crime doesn’t mean you have more right to purchase a weapon. Some people want the gun for protection, some want to kill animals, and some want to murder human beings. A felony background check doesn’t provide enough information.  Sometimes, total clearance means that you haven’t been caught yet.

                If you haven’t watched the news or seen the YouTube video made by the 22 year old gunman, I’ll recap the current affair; Elliot Rodgers, the son of a Hollywood assistant director, murdered 6 people in Santa Barbara, California and then killed himself. He posted a frightening video on YouTube, which basically expresses his ultimate alienation in society and hatred for the people he surrounded himself with. He’s a virgin, comes from a well-off family, and has never been in a relationship. Honestly, in this day in age of prevalent STDs and unplanned pregnancies, being a virgin at 22 is not that bad.

                When you’re in high school, peers, mentors, teachers and parents shove a whole lot of bullshit down your throat about what is a successful person in their twenties. College isn't always like in the movies. Elliot probably expected to go to college, join a frat, fuck a lot of sorority girls, gain popularity and get a degree. This sad and demented individual was looking for love in all the wrong places.  I was very aware of the stuck-up, so-called “hip” sectors of university life. Although I was equally mischievous, I had no intentions of following the “it” crowd. I was aware that popularity is nothing but a façade. Those people that Elliot expressed his undying hatred for had their own set of problems. They just were better at covering it up.

                After I watched the YouTube video of Elliot, I was instantly reminded of Robert De Niro’s character in “Taxi Driver.” Scorsese’s brilliant film portrays a man, similar to Elliot, who is revolted by society; therefore, he feels utterly alienated. Anger, frustration and delusions of being a vengeful anti-hero overpower both De Niro’s character and Elliot Rodgers. In the movie, De Niro develops an obsession for guns and violence. The writer, Paul Schrader, slept with a gun underneath his pillow and carried it around wherever he went. Before Schrader wrote the script, he had a mental breakdown and frequented the psych hospital, which is probably why Travis Bickle’s internal monologue is so authentic.

A feeling of alienation and cynicism for popular society is an issue that relates to my own personality. However, I try my best to deal with my problems, both therapeutically and creatively. Firearms and violence is not the answer. Although I have contempt for Elliot Rodgers actions, I’m also brave enough to empathize with him.

                  

STRANGER BY THE LAKE: All quiet on the cruising grounds

      Stranger by the Lake is a quiet and ominous psychosexual thriller that takes place on a sunny beach shore. The improbable, serene setting is a cruising spot for men; a tucked away gem hidden far away from mainstream society. The first half of this alluring and highly graphic tale concerns a young man’s search for sex, friendship, and a love interest. The central character, Franck, spends his entire summer days at the cruising area. His actions are repetitive; he gives a friendly kiss to a known acquaintance, undresses, basks in the sun, and then prowls with a deceptive twinkle of innocence.

       When Franck goes swimming, the camera cuts to his point-of-view; from a distance, he peers around the lakeside and seeks a connection with one of the men. His eyes stop at an unattractive older man, Henri, who is sitting by the rocks, far from the other naked locals. The camera cuts between a master shot of Franck swimming and his POV steadily moving towards Henri. Alfred Hitchcock used a similar shot in Psycho, which immerses the viewer into the character’s perspective.

      Young Franck forms a nonsexual friendship with Henri. Meanwhile, he falls in love with a burly, attractive man, Michel. At sundown, when everyone leaves the lake area, Franck sees Michel with another man in the water, and the situation escalates to a violent end. He doesn’t say a word. Curiosity and lust paralyze his skewed reality.

      The entire film takes places at the lakeside, portraying a small handful of characters. As the day passes, the director films the exteriors in wide shots—the parking area, the woods, the beach, the lake—the juxtaposition of the various surroundings create a unique spatial continuity. The exterior shots are filmed at different times of the day, which cleverly shows the passage of time. Scenes of heavy dialogue are primarily filmed in a single shot, and most of the time, the characters are fully naked, which lends an authenticity to the atmosphere. Stranger by the Lake doesn’t have a score and doesn’t need one. The use of natural sounds—the wind blowing against the woods, the breeze over the water, footsteps shuffling through the forest—expresses an improbable connection between the quiet beauty of the location and the murder that occurs there.

       Although the film has potential to be a great erotic thriller, one that director Roman Polanski would make, the abhorrent sexual content is a bit distracting. There’s a fine line between cinematic realism and glossy pornography. The graphic sexuality is realistically portrayed; however, some of the actors are having actual sex on camera, bodily fluids and all. There’s a point where the viewer might lose focus on the brilliant stepping stones of suspense and find it hard to shake off these graphic images. I ask myself; is the flagrant sexuality fully necessary, or could the mystery be even more intriguing without the money shots? See for yourself.

*** (out of four stars)

ROBOCOP fears to deliver the goods

       The 2014 remake of Paul Verhoven’s bloody and satirical classic is, ultimately, a state-of-the-art, action dud. The new Robocop doesn’t improve nor amplify the original, and the filmmakers don’t know which direction to go: deliver a film that mythologizes the origin of Robocop, or produce a violent thrill ride? The film does neither.
      Director Jose Padilha, a newcomer to the Hollywood system, shows off his flair for glossy visuals and terrific staging, but the script won’t allow the talented filmmaker to push the Robocop reboot to an ultraviolent edge; at least not with a PG-13 rating. The writers are more concerned with developing a droll back story and unconvincing motivation. The plot spends about an hour-and-a-half of running time setting up the transformation of Robocop, which only leaves twenty-five minutes for seeing Robocop kick ass. The story is more or less the same as the original. Alex Murphy is left for dead in a car explosion, which leaves him crippled beyond recognition. His wife agrees to use her husband for an experiment at a Robot corporation, and once Murphy becomes Robocop, he turns on the corrupt government and fights for justice.
      The remake, similar to the original, conveys themes relating to humans vs. technology, and the media’s influence on violence . However, the news report scenes in the remake are as tepid and annoying as a fly buzzing in your ear. Samuel L. Jackson plays as the omnipresent newscaster, and his character’s primary purpose is to state the underlying themes, and moral and ethical views on Robocop’s stance in a corrupt society. The dogmatic news scenes are conveniently structured in the beginning, middle and end, which attempts to wrap every obvious point into a nice little bow.
      Sometimes, studio manufactured films, like the new Robocop, feel a need to use scenes that spell everything out to an audience, yet the news sequences have little dramatic or satirical value. Samuel L. Jackson’s pointless character continues to pop-up after every action sequence, which diffuses the level of suspense and intrigue. The more we tell an audience, the less likely they’ll be looking for hidden values.
      Robocop is a unique anti-hero worth exploring, and the director produces some terrific, eye-catching visuals. For instance, when Robocop’s body suit is disassembled, his remains—only Murphy’s face, a substitute brain, and the blood pumping through his glass-enclosed heart—offer a striking chill. If the script trimmed the fat—the clichéd family dynamic and Novak news scenes—and upped the mayhem, then the remake would possibly be worth recommending. The 1987 original had an edge, wit, and gore galore; while the remake is too scared to cross the line, in fear of box office distress.

 **(out of four stars)

Fear and Loathing with THE WOLF OF WALL STREET

           
             In the final scene of the exuberant, The Wolf of Wall Street, our tragic anti-hero, Jordan Belfort, tells his audience at a sales convention to “sell me this pen.” As the pen bounces from one aspiring salesman to the next, not one of the nerdy suits could say the right words. Considering my past experiences as a Sales Rep and even a prospect on job interviews, I smirked at this inquisition. Years ago, I had a droll job interview at a Pizzeria in which the store manager challenged me to “sell him this pen,” which he paraded in my face. I was speechless and dumbfounded, and even worse, bubbling with sarcasm. This was a hole-in-the-wall Pizzeria and the manager wanted me to devise a clever sales technique?  “You’ve got to be kidding me!” I said to myself.
         Without a moment of hesitation, I flipped my resume over and drew a ghoulish cartoon of a monster holding the middle finger. I told the manager with a dead stare, “That’s my sales pitch!” Basically, in my own snarky and witty way, I told him to “fuck off.” The pizza man must’ve attended Jordan Belfort’s seminar. I love it when a film—especially one about abysmal stock brokers (which I’m not) —relates to my own life.
          The Wolf of Wall Street is a dazzling example of excess at its worst. These money hungry characters are despicable, insane and repellent, yet writer Terence Winter (The Sopranos) and director Martin Scorsese depict these sordid lives in an entertaining and lively manner. We can’t help but smile at every absurd turn. Acclaimed filmmaker, Martin Scorsese, is in top form, hurling the audience through a drug-and-sex-fueled debauchery with an  unrelenting kinetic energy. By the time the credits roll, I felt drugged, dizzy, yet somehow wanted to walk back into the theater and buy another ticket.
        The film is a black comedy, one of the best since Scorsese’s After Hours, which is a brilliant nightmarish vision of the hip sectors of New York City, circa 1980s. Wolf follows the rise and fall of stockbroker Belfort who, after the stock market crash in 1987, gets a job selling penny stock at a small, garage sales boiler room in Long Island. Jordan Belfort was obviously more ambitious and motivated than his fellow salesman, and as a result, starts his own firm. Meanwhile, Belfort has a chance encounter with one of his neighbors, Donnie Azoff, played to comic perfection by Jonah Hill (Superbad, Moneyball). After Belfort tells him that he earned $70,000 the previous month, Donnie wants in. Jonah Hill steals the show playing a pretentious, wanna-be Wasp, who becomes DiCaprio’s right-hand man. When they first sit and talk in a bar about their new business venture, they bond like brothers; they talk, laugh, and yes, smoke crack. As soon as the money flows in, an entire ocean of cocaine, Quaaludes and hookers-galore literally wash over the screen with technical bedazzlement. Being this bad has never looked so good.
        The film opens in the middle of the story and shows the firm’s pumped-up stock brokers partying and tossing midgets at a velcro dart board (hehe!). Scorsese uses a freeze-frame effect as a midget is thrown in the air, and DiCaprio’s voice-over speaks to the audience. The style and film grammar lets the audience know that you’ve entered the film universe of the great Martin Scorsese. As far as I know, Scorsese is the first filmmaker to engage a voice-over in the middle of a freeze-frame. In fact, he did it so well in Goodfellas that Spike Lee couldn’t resist and applied this editing style in Malcom X a year later. Whether you’re familiar with Scorsese’s pulsating camera work or not, there’s no denying the furious momentum of The Wolf of Wall Street.
          Despite the darkly roasted universe in which this frat pack of frauds inhabits, the high-octane performances, blistering dialogue and humiliating circumstances are some of the funniest damn moments I’ve seen on the big screen in quite some time. When Leonardo DiCaprio takes one too many Quaaludes and engages in a stupefying altercation with Jonah Hill (equally as fucked up), I felt embarrassed to laugh. The physical comedy of these two Quaalude-up buffoons were up to par with the silent film star Charlie Chaplin. It’s absolutely hilarious in all the wrong places.
           Scorsese is one of those filmmakers who dabbled heavily in the 70’s drug culture—he made it out alive, but some, never made it through the 80s. The filmmakers are very specific when it comes to the pervasive drug use; Belfort’s voice-over articulates the euphoric effects of Quaaludes, which was an enormously popular drug in the 70s, and later off the market in the 80s. However, filthy rich tycoons, such as the Wolf could afford to seek and purchase off-the-market drugs in the 90s.
          The script isn’t too concerned about guiding the audience through a tightly structured narrative. Director Martin Scorsese and writer Terence Winters want to engulf the audience in the excessive lifestyle of this particular corrupt culture. The Wolf of Wall Street seems to chase its own tail, but how else can one bring a realistic perspective of Jordan Belfort’s madness? The film depicts a story we’ve seen in a lot of biopics: the rise to success, seduced by corruption, and then, the inevitable fall from grace. And trust me, you’ll be laughing all the way.

***1/2 (out of four stars).

Yale's Horror Pick for Halloween: MANIAC

Gore-hounds…….get ready to treat yourself this Halloween to Maniac, which is an effective remake of the sleazy, 1980’s cult exploitation classic. The film is not only bloody disgusting, but also creepy as all hell. Elijah Wood commands the title role as Frank, a vicious NYC killer who scalps his victims to use in his dungeon of mannequins. The opening shot, in which  Frank impales a knife through the jaw of his first victim, is seen through his point-of-view, referring to the perspective of the tortured cameraman in Michael Powell’s Peeping Tom(1960). Elijah Wood’s killer, similar to Buffalo Bill in Silence of the Lambs, (there’s even a musical reference in which the killer's prey dances to Q Lazzarus's Goodbye Horses) objectifies women, hoping to find relief from his traumatic upbringing.

                The entire film is seen through Frank’s eyes, which holds some resemblance to Travis Bickle’s unique point-of-view in Taxi Driver (1976). The audience is literally stuck inside the killer’s perspective, and we only get snippets of Elijah Wood’s bluish, yet deviously creepy eyes through reflections and dream states.  The camera work and cinematography are, ironically, a thing of beauty; the isolated areas of the city, including the long and empty alleyways and subway station, exude a surreal dread. The audience submerges into the killer’s point-of-view without any nauseating sensations. The tracking shots stumble a bit, expressing a human-like balance, but the framing and composition is impeccable. The director wants us to experience the terror of these extreme killings; slasher films have never been this arty since Peeping Tom.

                The primary reason why Maniac is such a fresh outing in the horror genre is that studio filmmakers are churning one supernatural thriller after another. How many rehashes of The Haunting (1963) can one watch without yawning at every door creak and obtrusive sound effect? I felt a sigh of relief to sit through a good-ole fashion, borderline -exploitation slasher film, which also bares strong psychological undertones.  

Due to the graphic nature of the film—both gruesome and sexual—Maniac slipped under the radar. Mainstream audiences will find Maniac truly sickening, but look beyond the bloody massacre and seek out the psychological aspects of Elijah Wood’s antihero. The film runs a lean-and-mean 89 minutes, but it’s a enough time to revel in the killer’s demented mind-frame.  Maniac is a bloody disgusting treat that is also terrifying. Too bad I missed this one on the big screen.

*** (out of four stars)

Pedro Almodovar puts the "cock" in cockpit with I'M SO EXCITED!

   

            The majority of the film takes place on a transatlantic flight going from Spain to Mexico. Due to technical failure, the airplane is flying in circles in La Mancha, Spain, and as the plane moves on a course without a destination, so does the episodic plot of I’m So Excited! Spanish Filmmaker, Pedro Almodovar, is an international treasure that isn’t afraid to push queer cinema to the peak of jaw-dropping and campy flavor. His insights behind the kitschy quirks of the gay community, women and theatrics are like a breath of fresh air. When so many filmmakers concern themselves with bringing homosexuality into the political limelight or as the victims of repression, Almodovar creates individuals, who so happen to be gay, transgender or sexually promiscuous. There is neither judgment nor holding back hedonistic pleasures.

            I’m So Excited! is a raunchy comedy in which the flight crew drugs the coach passengers with sedatives and consort and deal with the business class, a handful of prickly and bizarre characters that represent the entitled upper class of Spanish society. The stars of the film, and the funniest elements, are the gay flight attendants who indulge in an endless string of booze, drugs, sex and gossip. The gay trio, played by Javier Camarra (Almodovar regular), Raul Arevalo and Carlos Areces, makes up the film’s comedic highlight. They are aware that the plane could crash, and similar to the medical unit in Robert Altman’s MASH, they act in a relentless hysteria to block the idea of death.

            Unfortunately, the best scene in the film can be seen in the trailer; the flight attendants, drugged on a heavy dose of mescaline, perform a flamboyant and slapstick dance number to the Pointer Sisters “I’m So Excited”, and once it’s over, well, it’s back to a lagging plot and kinky dialogue exchange that never tops that single scene of spontaneous musical combustion. Pedro Almodovar is going back to his sexual comedic roots of the 80’s, such as Tie Me Up! Tie Me Down! and the hilarious, Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown, but in I’m So Excited!, the separate storylines hardly converge, creating a bumpy and uneven 90 minutes, with characters that aren’t fully fleshed out. When the story tries to blend character and relationship struggles, along with themes relating to repressed homosexuality, Almodovar teeters from the ridiculous to the serious, unable to grasp a coherent tone.

       The look of the film, particularly the set of the airplane, has a charming and colorful stage-quality. A hodgepodge of bright colors—such as red, light blue and pink—gives the film a European, pop-art essence. This time around, the camera is  static; the editing and camera movements are minimal, which emphasizes the dialogue and abrupt sexual encounters (typical Almodovar). However, the sexual content doesn’t seem as shocking or outlandish as his previous efforts.

             The manic concept behind I’m So Excited! has excellent potential for a more John Water-ish trash-type of cinema. Too bad filmmakers would have trouble getting distribution for a throwback midnight movie from the 70’s.  I’m So Excited! is an original and flavorful creation, but the laughs are far and few between. Pedro Almodovar is a one-of-a-kind filmmaker, but in the new millennium, his dramatic pieces resonate deeper than his comedies. 

**1/2 (out of four stars)

New on DVD and Blue-Ray: SPRING BREAKERS

Spring Breakers

Written and Directed by Harmony Korine

USA, 2013.

If a message lingers beneath the kaleidoscopic surface of the film’s candy-coated visuals, it’s that our new young generation—obsessed with reality trash TV, sexual deviance without consequences, and rap music that glorifies drug use—is falling into an endless pit of superficial, pop-culture garbage. Filmmaker Harmony Korine, better known as the writer of Kids—a breakout film about sexual experimentation and the spread of HIV—has written and directed a film about smart college girls doing dumb things to fit in with the privileged “it” crowd. There’s a lot to admire about Spring Breakers; Harmony Korine is one of the few artist to capture our youth’s degradation, which may or may not have to do with media influences.

            The film is about four college girls, ironically played by “tweenie” idols, who decide to rob a diner to fund their spring break trip to South Florida. Eventually, they end up in jail (realities that rap artist don’t talk about) and get bonded out by an eccentric drug dealer, Alien, played to weird perfection by James Franco.

Scene after scene, the camera shows girls pouring liquor between their unnaturally large breasts and hunk men licking it off their body.  The scenes that capture spring breakers gone wild is not meant to be a realistic portrait, but more of a commentary on how our media glorifies a party lifestyle; and since these characters are suckers for anything that feels good and looks good, then spring break is a dream come true. Sure, we want our parents to know where we’re going, but what we’re doing—kinky sex, heavy drugs and armed robbery—those dark habits are left with the pink elephant in the room.

When the girls fall under the spell of Alien, we realize they aren't victims of a con artist, but instead, they’re truly infatuated with the seedy, “gangsta” lifestyle. James Franco steals the show and exudes a one-of-kind personality. Franco’s Alien is funnier and more bizarre than his stoner pot dealer in Pineapple Express. These characters are distasteful and ultimately, one-dimensional, but that’s Harmony Korine’s way of satirizing the so-called right-of-passage of spring break. These girls live in a world where they feel entitled to an endless string of hedonistic pleasures.  They push themselves until they suffer violent consequences. How far is enough? Never underestimate today’s youthful culture. We’re white, we’re privileged, and we’re ready to play until the wheels fall off.

The cinematography is eye-popping; Harmony Korine creates a vivid color wheel of pop-like images, which greatly contrast from the dark tone of the film. However the look, the story gets very redundant. For example, there are too many scenes of the girls frolicking around in bikinis, holding automatic weapons, for no other point but to stretch the length. Once an idea is expressed, the narrative should move forward, but in Spring Breakers, we’re bombarded by the same images over and over. The first half presents a fascinating, bold and sickly funny satire, but towards the end, the tone gets dull and icky.

**1/2 (out of four stars)

STOKER is more style than substance

 

       Director Chan-wook Park took my breath away with the cult film, Oldboy (2003), which is a spellbinding revenge tale. The film blended grit, violence, humor, and one of the most compelling mysteries ever told into a tasty dish of stylized direction. Everything from composition, bold colors, and De Palma-like use of split screens, Oldboy became a solid undertaking in stylish cinema. Stoker is Chan-wook Park’s first foray into Hollywood, and although his flamboyant visual grammar is apparent, the script doesn’t climax as well as its predominant influence, Alfred Hitchcock’s Shadow of a Doubt (1943).  Stoker has all of the qualities of a captivating, psychological thriller—murder and sex go hand-and-hand, characters aren’t what they seem, and the plot takes a twist into the dark side. Unfortunately, the director has more fun teasing us, rather than, revealing.       The story is about an uncle who moves into his sister-in-law’s house, after his brother mysteriously dies. The odd trio—mother, daughter and uncle—oozes of sexual tension. Nicole Kidman plays Evelyn Stoker, and like her bizarre daughter, India (Mia Wasikowska), she's smitten by the relentless charm of their new houseguest, Uncle Charles (Matthew Goode). The key relationship is between India and Charles, and as the plot slowly thickens, the audience is aware that Charles Stoker isn’t quite who he says he is. 
     Chan-wook Park paints a surreal picture; images that express isolation and bitterness are ironically, beautiful. The work of a master surrealist is evident, but the script builds and builds, but somehow, falls flat. Something sinister is coming this way, and let me tell you, a gorgeously shot path is paved, but the overall dramatic impact is more flaccid than erect. What Stoker lacks in a suspenseful, character-driven story, makes up in a stylish visual scheme. However, it’s storytelling that really counts.
       One of the best motifs presented in the film are India’s shoes. She wears the simple, black-and-white saddle shoes worn in private schools. There’s a wonderful shot in which India is daydreaming on her bed, and every pair of shoes she has worn since a toddler are precisely placed in a circle around her body. Considering her last pair of shoes is classy pumps with heels as sharp as teeth, the shoes represent her development from odd child to a fledging and sexual adult. I smell a reference to Dorothy’s ruby slippers in The Wizard of Oz (1939).
      Chan-wook Park, similar to Brian De Palma, underscores the dark humor and sexuality in Hitchcock’s work. There’s a scene where India is taking a shower, washing the blood off her body, and as she masturbates the film intercuts to a murder. The scene reminded me of the opening of De Palma’s Dressed to Kill (1980), where the camera peers into a steam-filled shower, building suspense, only to reveal Angie Dickinson playing with herself, fantasizing being raped by a stranger. The shower scene in Stoker intercuts sexual and violent desires, but afterwards, the tone and pacing remain the same, when it should rise to a new level of suspense and intrigue. Like I’ve said before, no one can do Hitchcock better than Hitchcock, but Brian De Palma comes pretty damn close.
       Stoker serves a nice slice of dark humor with its main dish, but there’s only so much an audience can take with the razzle-dazzle of prettified images. Somewhere, the story has to take the biggest leap, rather than the style. A masterwork is hidden underneath, but it seems to me that the writers aren’t sure where to go with this material.

**1/2 (out of four stars)

Vote Yes! for NO

      

        I’m not ashamed to admit it; I’m not inclined to follow political issues closely.  I believe that’s what Robert De Niro told Cybill Sheperd in Taxi Driver. However, I am aware that my vote and my personal views count with the best of them. During election season, I tend to analyze the advertisement campaigns. The television ads for both parties spend more time denouncing the opponents, taking below-the-belt hits. This may be a harsh generalization, but it’s my personal perspective. I never like it when one party throws the other under the bus in order to make their campaign look better.
        The new, political drama from Chile, No, provides a fascinating and thought-provoking look at the peak of Augusto Pinochet’s dictatorship, circa 1988. I believe it’s important for little independent films like No to be made and acknowledged around the world; the content concerning Chile’s electoral process is universal. No is a scathing perspective of the campaign behind one of the most important international elections—the end of Augusto Pinochet’s regime.
        Mexican superstar, Gael Garcia Bernal, plays as Rene, a young and savvy advertiser that lands the job of the century. He’s the mastermind of the “No” campaign. During that time in Chile, the citizens could either vote “Yes” or “No.” The most votes can either discharge or continue Pinochet’s reign of fear. These votes will change Chile’s government. 
        One should never underestimate the political clout of advertisement. These guys might seem like the snarling executives who instill fear into our consumer population. By that same token, they speak to our latest trends and youngest generation of voters. Rene’s job is to speak to a younger crowd; the group sees Pinochet differently than the older generation. A rainbow sign becomes the recurrent motif of the campaign—a political symbol. Most people believe that the rainbow signifies homosexuality. Yes, this is true, but it also represents peace and unity, an important symbol during the sixties.
        Besides the cerebral content of the film, No is a subtle, technical achievement as well. The entire film is shot on grainy video, kept in its original aspect ratio. The video look of the 80s blends with the archival footage, which includes commercials, newscast, and riots and protest. In fact, the entire film is structured around the found footage; a sublime and daring way to tell a story, especially a story of political enlightenment. One can look at the film itself as a piece of advertisement. The Reagan-era of the 80s is wonderfully recreated in South America’s metropolitan society.  It’s a wonder to see how much of American pop culture influenced the younger generation in Chile.
        Towards the end of the film, there’s a simple, yet victorious shot of Rene walking through the celebrated streets, with his son in hand. The back story of Rene is that his father was persecuted by Augusto Pinochet. He’s doing for his own son, what his father tried to do for Rene. There’s a legacy at play. His freedom isn’t just for the Chilean people, but for the sake of his own family, his own heritage. He’s just a normal guy with a regular job in advertisement. Similar to Woodward and Bernstein of the Nixon-era, Rene is aware of the progressive impact his work has on society, not just in Chile, but society as a whole.

 *** ½ (out of four stars)

WARM BODIES softens the zombie genre

         With the hit zombie-thon of the Walking Dead, and Twilight fan-girls tossing their panties at Robert Pattinson, American pop-culture is embracing the undead subgenres like never before.  Hell, there’s even a network commercial, which implements a gory zombie theme. After the success of Shaun of the Dead (2004), which is a brilliant parody of Romero’s zombie trilogy, I didn’t think it was possible to poke fun at the undead and still remain fresh and original. Zombieland (2009) fared well, but the laughs were few and far between.  Now there’s Warm Bodies, a zombie romance geared toward teenage audiences.
       I was pleasantly surprised with the film’s endless charm. The story is a Romeo and Juliet spinoff—a modern romantic comedy between a 20-something zombie and the girl he’s protecting, amidst the zombie apocalypse.  I thought to myself, how can a PG-13 rated film about zombies still remain slightly violent and gory (which the genre calls for) without crossing the horror line? The director, Jonathan Levine, knows how to create a likable hero, even when we see him partake in a human flesh cuisine. Even then, there’s still an air of cuteness about a zombie named “R.”
       Nicolas Hoult began his career in About a Boy (2002), playing opposite Hugh Grant. It was a child performance full of energy and heart.  Now all grown up, actor Hoult conveys a strong likability through his zombie character’s dry humor, witty internal monologue, subtle spark, and most important, the various elements in his makeup. Yes, “R” looks like the undead—blue skin, black circles under his eyes, and blood dripping from his mouth. However, there’s a key element into bringing a pleasant appearance to this particular zombie. “R” can eat all the human brains he wants, but as long as his eyeliner accentuates his striking green eyes, teeth white and aligned, then it’s easier for teenage girls to melt and giggle. Surely, they’re not taking off their panties like they do for Robert Pattinson, but the British actor is slowly making a name for himself.
       For my money, I’d prefer an all-out, grotesque zombie hero, teeth rotten to the root. However, I understand that the target audience is teenagers, and for what it is, and how the story develops, Warm Bodies works unlike any other zombie riff. The story even reinvents the subgenre; new biological insight into the zombie race allows for a glimmer of hope for everyone.
       Although I found Warm Bodies to be an effective installment in the zombie fad, I’d rather spend the night with acclaimed horror filmmaker George A. Romero and his metaphorical Dead films. First off, the special make-up effects in Dawn of the Dead (1978) and Day of the Dead (1985) put CGI gore to shame.  Romero’s social commentary and satirical overtones in all three films, starting with Night of the Living Dead (1968), reflect the era in which they were made.
       I have a profound appreciation for the older zombie films, even the cheapie grindhouses, which made Italian filmmaker, Lucio Fulci, a cult favorite.  The writer-and-director of Warm Bodies makes a reference to Fulci’s Zombie (1979), which is a gross-out, borderline exploitation zombie picture. Lucio Fulci’s style is very cheeky and in-your-face—the audience is either delighted or repulsed by the unhurried gore effects. I’m the critic that’s delighted. It takes you back to a time when special make-up effects took place before your eyes, rather than created on a computer.
      If you’re not a fan of the zombie genre and squeamish when it comes to the undead, then the sweet humor and charisma of the two leads will make Warm Bodies a beguiling affair. The film is the first enjoyable, mainstream-flesh-eating comedy of the year. Bon appetite.

 *** (out of four stars)

OSCAR GLORY: Yale's Favorite Nominated Films of 2012

The Academy Awards are just around the corner, and I was most enthused to see that Beasts of the Southern Wild was nominated for Best Picture. The other nominees—Argo, Zero Dark Thirty, Lincoln, Django Unchained, Life of Pi, Les Miserables, Amour, Silver Linings Playbook—are all terrific motion pictures. However, I’d replace Les Miserables with Skyfall, which is an invigorating installment in the James Bond franchise. However, Bond doesn’t equate Oscar gold. Helmed by acclaimed filmmaker, Sam Mendes (American Beauty), I think voters need to focus on the attributes that matter the most—content, direction, style—rather than “franchise” or “blockbuster.” Here’s a recap of some of the best films that are nominated for Best Picture.

        Prepared to be wowed.  Beasts of the Southern Wild is a poetic, southern gothic tale that pushes the limits of the viewer’s imagination. Real locations and visual fantasy blend seamlessly together. The creation is sweetly startling. The narrative is simple, but the visual scope is endless. The story focuses on the tumultuous relationship between 6-year-old hushpuppy and her sickly, hard-drinking father. They reside in the poor town of “Bathtub,” which is a swampy, tucked-away gem, located in the Louisiana bayou. Bathtub is a place where the locals decorate their stilted shacks and river rafts with spare car parts and driftwood. They indulge in an endless supply of crawfish, crabs and liquor.
          The filmmakers bring an unknown subculture to life. I’d love to buy a ticket to Louisiana and visit Bathtub, but my bet is, I’ll never find it. The location is drawn upon the meager lives of a post-Katrina society. In the course of the film, a storm breaks the levees, flooding the backwoods town. Little Hushpuppy learns that the ice poles are melting (which they are) and it causes a herd of gigantic aroch’s (mythical creatures) to migrate through Bathtub.
          First-time screen actress, Quvenshane Wallis, gives a genius performance, full of fire and gut-intuition. Every aspect of her physical feature—the shredded clothing, loud afro, and wide eyes bring out her determination to survive in a tragic, yet beautifully captured landscape. Her father, Wink, is harsh, stern and all-together, unfit to be a father in modern America, but the audience sympathizes with his relationship with his daughter. Remember, this isn’t America as we know it—the cars, the mortgage, and the 2.5 kids—this is the southern wild. He raises Hushpuppy to survive, rather than to fit it.
         The camerawork is handheld (constrained to the budget), but the images exude a calendar-like appeal, similar to the films of Terrance Malick (Days of Heaven, Tree of Life). Beasts of the Southern Wild is one of the best films I’ve seen this year. I hope mainstream audiences take a chance and see what all the fuss is about.  **** (out of four stars)

         Director David O’ Russell scored gold with Silver Linings Playbook, which is both a funny and gut-wrenching look at mental illness. Silver Linings Playbook is an “actors” film; the vibrant ensemble brings the dysfunctional characters to a highly emotional level. The term, “silver lining,” means finding something good from a bad situation. The film is very perceptive and nonjudgmental. When Bradley Cooper’s character was able to take a step back and perceive his family for what they are, the more he was able to accept his past. Bradley Cooper is always on the run.  As soon as his mother, played by Jacki Weaver, checks him out of the mental hospital, his manic energy causes him to chase his own tail. The scenes of him jogging relate to the most important theme of the film; moving on with your life. It’s about accepting the past and finding happiness in the present and future. In the beginning, Cooper chases around the people that brought him distress, but once he forms a bond with Jennifer Lawrence, an equally unstable character, he’s able to shut one door and open a new one. A dysfunctional family is a familiar theme in David O’ Russell’s films. The acclaimed filmmaker dealt with a Freudian incest relationship in his debut, Spanking the Monkey (1994). In the hilarious, Flirting with Disaster (1996), an adopted man goes on a screwball road trip in search of his biological parents, and in The Fighter (2010), we get a sense of Mark Walberg’s large and loud, Boston-based, blue-collar family.  *** 1/2 (out of four stars)

          Iconic filmmaker, Steven Spielberg takes a slightly different directorial approach to Lincoln; sober, thoughtful and dialogue-driven. Lincoln is a poignant portrait of an American president that’s been the center of satire and mythmaking. While I was watching the magnificently helmed narrative, I kept waiting for those kinetic camera close-ups that Spielberg is known for; the camera smoothly leaps into an important face or object, which lays out exposition. There wasn’t a single sweeping camera movement. Spielberg’s visual grammar isn’t necessarily pretentious, but he pulls the viewer into the kinetic energy of the camerawork. For example, in Minority Report (2002), I was in awe of the visceral top-view shot, which maps out an entire apartment complex; the camera moves in-and-out, rotating through the various rooms. Another exciting camera shot I recall is in Munich (2005), where two different groups surprise one another at gunpoint, and the camera moves through the corners of the hostel as all of the characters grab their weapons. However, in Lincoln, the camera is still and calm, absorbing the mis-en-scene. The wide shots convey the grandness of the old-time political offices, courtrooms and the candle-lit White House. The film is a smartly written period piece and actor Daniel Day-Lewis gives another Oscar-worthy performance. ***1/2 (out of four stars)

          Quentin Tarantino’s most linear narrative is now, I think, one of his most explosive. Django Unchained recycles spaghetti westerns and the blaxploitation genre and creates one of the most daring and funniest films; a slavery revenge fantasy—so kitschy, so cool. This is Tarantino as his most playful and at a running time of 2 hrs and 45 minutes, I was craving more. Scenes build-up with his signature, witty dialogue, and then pays-off with a violent outcome that’ll make Sam Peckinpah roll-over in his grave. Everything I love about spaghetti westerns—the griminess of life, high-priced bounties, and stylish visual grammar—are evident in Django Unchained.  Once Jamie Foxx and Christoph Waltz enter into the plantation called Candieland, it’s like I’d entered into an untapped world of cinema. That world belongs to the notorious 70s exploitation melodrama, Mandingo (1975). Mandingo has been labeled “racist” in its portrayal of slavery, but sometimes, and Tarantino understands this, there are some things in our culture that Americans are afraid to face. This is one of them. In Mandingo, the audience relishes the exploitive gore and sex of plantation life, but in Django Unchained, Tarantino is unearthing elements of evil that history books are careful to exclude. It’s not the fact that slaves are fighting to the death, but the fact that the slave owner, Calvin Candie, watches the murder for his own living-room entertainment, which makes it all-the-more disturbing. Tarantino rattles the cage with this thrilling opus, and his only weapon is a pencil and a camera. **** (out of four stars)

           Now, for the film that’s been sweeping all of the pre-Oscar awards, Argo is extremely enjoyable, suspenseful and masterfully crafted. Argo has been labeled as a spy thriller, but it’s more than that. The film also takes a look at the Hollywood industry in the late 70s, post-Star Wars. Both big-time and washed-out movie executives were lining up to produce their next blockbuster sci-fi film, so a fake production was a clever cover-up for the CIA.  Argo is a potent dramatization of a true event. The mission: a handful of American hostages need to be secretly smuggled out of Iran. Ben Affleck’s execution: chockfull of suspense techniques and peppered with retro show-biz humor. Argo is entertainment at the highest level. In the first twenty minutes, the exposition is thoughtfully laid out. The American Embassy has been overthrown, the Americans are in hiding, the CIA needs to figure out a solution, and it’s only a matter of time before the Iranian’s can piece together the shredded documents. All of the story’s dramatic elements intertwine in the final act of the film. The editing between the various locations had me at the edge of my seat. I found Argo to be a huge leap for Ben Affleck’s directing career. His previous effort, The Town (2010), was a thrilling heist film, but nothing like what he accomplishes here. ***1/2 (out of four stars)

           

                       

Take this movie as prescribed, the SIDE EFFECTS might be overwhelming

  

    Every time I turn on the T.V. there’s a commercial for a new, FDA-approved anti-depressant—Abilify, Cymbalta, Seroquel XR—we certainly live in a so-called “Prozac Nation.” The advertisements generally consist of a woman, mid-to-late thirties, sipping on a mug of hot tea and staring blankly out a living room window. I’m currently taking an anti-depressant called Zoloft. I trust my doctor, at least after seeing the numerous diplomas on his wall, but sometimes, I can’t help but think that the side effects could be detrimental to my overall health. Furthermore, Zoloft, along with Paxil, Effexor and Lexapro are repeatedly referred to in this penetrating thriller. In today’s culture, pharmacology is a popular topic among dinner dates. Remember when exercise, well-balanced meals and a brandy nightcap did the trick? Those days are long over, and the filmmakers behind Side Effects are well aware of that.  
    Director Steven Soderbergh has stated that Side Effects is his last film. It’s a shame. Ever since he snagged the coveted Palm D’ Or at the 1989 Cannes Film Festival for his tantalizing psychological bedroom drama, Sex, Lies, and Videotapes, he’s rarely hit a false note in his directing career. Soderbergh’s mainstream affair, such as the Ocean’s trilogy, is still sublimely cool and understated. With Side Effects, not only is he staying relevant with our ever-changing American culture, but he takes what seems like a standard progression in mental health care, and flipping it on its back. The filmmakers unravel the story with suspense, intrigue, and above all, cunning irony.
     Side Effects begins with a wide pan of Manhattan, followed by a slow zoom-in shot of a window. The opening shot instantly reminded me of the ominous beginning of Hitchock’s Psycho (1960); camera pans across Phoenix, Arizona and zooms into a window. Similar to Psycho, an unforeseen murder takes place. Side Effects opens and closes with camera movements from the perspective of looking into a home from a window, and conversely, looking out from a mental hospital. The placement of these two shots indirectly conveys the madhouse America is turning into.
     The film begins with Emily Taylor, played by Rooney Mara, greeting her husband Martin (Channing Tatum) from a stint in prison for insider trading. Seemingly depressed and suicidal, Emily is confronted by psychiatrist Jonathan Banks (Jude Law) after crashing her car into a concrete wall. Sodenbergh initiates the car crash by a visceral montage, comprised of extreme angles and close-ups. At one point, the camera shows her press the gas pedal; her foot literally steps on the lens of the camera. Montages are typically used to convey an action that would be less convincing if it were done with a single wide shot. Not only is the scene dramatically effective, it also establishes an important plot-point. The car wreck, along with other dramatic scenes, is flipped around towards the end, shedding new light to the story.
     Dr. Jonathan Banks is troubled by Emily’s diagnosis and investigates her past. He contacts Emily’s previous psychiatrist, Victoria Siebert, played with a sexy confidence by Catherine Zeta-Jones. Dr. Siebert reports she tried many drugs with Emily and encouraged him to try a new anti-depressant. Consequently, Emily’s side effects are bizarre; she begins to sleepwalk. Since the drug is working, despite the side effects, Dr. Banks keeps her on the drug. The subtext of the film shows how pharmaceutical companies manipulate consumers and physicians; the twist here is what happens when patients and psychiatrist manipulate the mental health care system. That’s as far as I’ll delve into the plot, anymore would spoil the experience.
     Side Effects starts off as a character-driven drama—a woman seeking help for her depression. Then, it progresses into a social expose of modern psychiatry, and somewhere along the line, the narrative turns into a steamy, potboiler of a murder mystery. The conclusion is riveting. It has the same tone and plot devices as other modern noirs, such as Body Heat (1981) and The Grifters (1990).
     I absolutely love the look of this film. Soderbergh has mastered HD technology and gives the film a cool and breezy undertone. The images are dripping with murky greens and yellows; a shadowy darkness is exposed underneath the seemingly professional New York socialites. Side Effects isn’t the kind of story that’s filmed these days. It’s a risky endeavor. The writer and director have to make sure that they’re one step ahead of the audience, and in the case of Side Effects, I was blindsided. The narrative contains old-school devices borrowed from the best of the mystery genre, and it kept building my interest until the very last shot.

***1/2 (out of four stars)