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)

LOOPER........"have we met before?"

      When I heard that Looper was a sci-fi film about time-travel, I was slightly turned off, despite the director’s terrific debut, Brick (2005), where he sunk his teeth into the world of film noir. Surprisingly, I was very impressed at director Rian Johnson’s subtle vision of the future. Sure, technological progress has enabled some vehicles to hover above ground, but the streets are ultimately decaying in poverty. The filmmaker’s vision of the future is grim, desolate and murky, exuding a perfect setting for a neo-noir. The pivotal moments in the film take place in dreary back-alleys, hole-in-the-wall warehouses and a farm house. With that said, the director’s intention is to serve the story and characters, not our senses. Looper is less concerned with extravagant visual detail (keeping the budget low) and more concerned with developing an effective story, along with an underlying, philosophical message—how would a person react to their future self, and what sacrifices would they make to repair the future? 
      The narrative begins in Kansas, year 2044. A specialized assassin, known as a “looper,” played with sheer bravado by Joseph Gordon Levitt, is hired to dispose of humans that are sent from thirty years into the future. The director applies a repetitive montage of the killings, which expresses Joe’s dull work. Joe stands in the field, checks his pocket-watch, a jump-cut of a body appears in front of him, and BANG—one shot from a shotgun and his silver bars are waiting for him on the guy he just killed. The repetitive nature of Joe’s work deemphasizes any romantic vision of being a stone-cold assassin for the mob. The film is more concerned with motivation and atmosphere, rather than stylized, slam-bam action set-pieces.
      When we think of “assassin,” we think of super-cool movie villains, who pullout fancy sniper rifles, silencers attached, shooting from an open window. Director Johnson goes against the grain, avoiding action-movie prototypes. Levitt’s character is the quintessential lone-wolf. His narrative voice-over in the beginning evokes film noir conventions from the 40s. Furthermore, Looper is a unique hodgepodge of noir, sci-fi, action and a touch of horror. When the film introduces the concept of telekinesis, it suggest a sci-fi element, but towards the end, the idea develops into something bloody-horrific—a special nod to Brian Depalma’s Carrie (1976).
      When Joe’s future self, played by Bruce Willis, is sent back in time to be killed by Joe in the present, he hesitates, and Willis gets away. There’s a point where the unfolding of the story stops, and we see snippets of Joe’s growth into the future. Then, the story resumes, looping back to where we left off, but this time around, the audience has a sense of what Willis’s character is like.  Levitt and Willis have a symmetrical relationship, yet their motivations for surviving are different.  At first, Bruce Willis’s character seems like the hero in the situation, but as the film progresses, we realize that his mission is just as bleak and evil as the terminator’s hunt for Sarah Connor in The Terminator(1984).
      Levitt, constantly fighting off the mob and his future self, seeks shelter in a farm house, where Sara, played by Emily Blunt, resides in isolation with her son. Levitt’s character develops a relationship with Blunt; the momentum slows down. The style, both in editing and pace, becomes more relaxed. It’s like a break from the chaos, so the audience can sit and really get to know the main characters. The scenes at the farm might seem a little too convenient for the plot, but the romance between Sara and Joe brings backbone to the story.
      Looper had me worried that I was going to chase the time-travel plot, like a dog and his tail, but the screenplay’s dynamite resolution brought harmony to every paradoxical idea that was floating in my head.  Looper is a remarkable head-trip of a film. 

 ***1/2 (out of four stars)

P.T. Andersons shows mastery in filmmaking, but THE MASTER is no masterpiece

      Freddie Quells, brilliantly portrayed by Joaquin Phoenix, is a wounded soul, drowning his sorrows and frustrations in an abundance of home-made moonshine. He’s a naval officer returned from a tour of duty in WWII. Freddie’s post-war life consists of the drink, uncontrollable fits of anger and immediate, juvenile sexual gratification. The awkwardness of Freddie’s behavior includes simulating sex with a sand dune that is shaped into a naked woman, masturbating out in the open sea shore, grabbing the closest igniting products – paint thinner, lighter fluid and gasoline – to mash up his lethal cocktails.
     When a peasant farmer comes across his special moonshine and dies, he runs. Freddie runs and drinks and runs until he falls into the bewildering, cult-like society known vaguely as “The Cause,” lead by Lancaster Dodd (Phillip Seymour Hoffman).  “The Cause” holds some resemblance to the infamous organization of Scientology, but there isn’t a clear allegory at play. Hoffman’s hypnotic, religious group provides a forum for controversy, but most importantly, a society where troubled souls like Freddie Quells can form an identity within a family-like structure.
     Surrogate families and substitute parenting are recurrent themes in Paul Thomas Anderson’s films. The perceptive portrayal of a surrogate relationship is best conveyed in his earlier work, such as Boogie Nights (a family of pornographers) and Hard Eight (the father/son bond between two strangers). After Boogie Nights came out, it was clear that there was a new, fresh and invigorating filmmaker in town. When Magnolia followed in 1999, critics, audiences and filmmakers alike were mesmerized by how a 29 year-old youngster depicted such a rich mosaic of interlocking stories and characters.
     Paul Thomas Anderson has written and directed six original films, but his latest, The Master, gets lost in a cinematic abyss. The 70mm film print enriches the visual landscape, the dialogue and performances sizzle with various emotions, but the concept is vague. Yes, Anderson wants the audience to make cerebral inferences concerning the “Cause,” and the turbulent relationship between Freddie Quells and Lancaster Dodd. But does Anderson know himself? Perhaps a second viewing will opt for a different response. I liked the film, I think his craft is in top form, but there were times that I get the feeling that P.T. Anderson, similar to Lancaster Dodd’s therapeutic and religious endeavors, makes it up as he goes along. Unclear of what Anderson is reaching for, I know there’s something profound rummaging in his manic brain, but this time around, I wanted a solid understanding behind his bold ideas. On the upside, I was glued to the filmmaker’s signature foul-mouthed dialogue, sudden outbursts of rage, and characters that are more looked down upon than admired, but written with a keen sensitivity.
     Musician Johnny Greenwood reunites, for a second time, with P.T. Anderson, creating a score that brilliantly underscores the film, more so than in There Will Be Blood. Greenwood, known as famed guitarist of Radiohead, orchestrates a wild, yet meticulously crafted broken-circus of woodwinds, strings and percussions, which sublimely melts out of the emotional pores of the images. Johnny Greenwood was ignored by the Academy in 2007 with There Will Be Blood, but hopefully, his tantalizing musical score will be acknowledged this year.  
     Two of the finest performances of the year are evident in The Master. Phillip Seymour Hoffman and Joaquin Phoenix bring depth to the characters and the dialogue. Sometimes, in a P.T. Anderson film, it’s not what the characters say, but how they say it that speaks volumes. Humor, as usual, blends seamlessly into this epic-like creation. Watching this film, I could tell that P.T. Anderson had the only hand in the script, but this time around, the enigma hovers slightly over the craft. I think Anderson is striving for that masterful American classic. Honestly, he doesn’t have to travel that far from the grime of the San Fernando Valley (his birthplace) to create a great American classic.

*** (out of four stars)

WOLF is bound to spark controversy (part of Dallas International Film Festival)

     
     In the film’s opening image, the central character roams aimlessly through the lush green forest; the boldness of his red shirt highlights his appearance. The visual contrast of his red shirt—the color of blood, life, lust and guilt—stands out in the natural background. Subtle echoes of a wolf, combined with an ominous, yet low-key score, cleverly alludes to the victimized prey in "little red riding hood."
     Wolf is essentially about the mental and emotional damage to an adolescent teen who was sexually abused, repeatedly, by the pastor of his church. The film was shot on a tight budget, constrained to a swift fifteen day shoot. Although the production cost was low, the writer-and-director, Ya’ke Smith, artfully captures the haunting and symbolic imagery, utilizing HD technology. The cinematography, alone, evoked a lingering aesthetic; the contrast in colors and dramatic composition of some of the dream sequences enriched the texture of the images. The Texas-native filmmaker probes the psychological depths behind the nature of a pedophile, offering empathetic insight.
     The subtext of the taunting narrative explores the ways we both blame and defend the Church-related aspect of the crime. As we dissect the controversy, should the viewer separate the religious connotation, or should we see the pastor’s sexual assaults as a representation of the hypocrisies of organized religion? Corruption in the church is quite evident, but more in depth, the filmmakers portray the humanistic cause-and-effects of sexual molestation.
     The eerie dream sequences reveal the untapped, emotional turmoil of both the pastor and his victim, Carl (Jordon Cooper). Consequently, Carl feels ambivalent about his feelings towards his predator. The pastor’s role as a substitute father and his authority in the Church lured Carl into his trap. Wolf avoids any melodramatic handling of the provocative material. The director blurs the line between good and evil. According to the film’s subtext, the pastor wasn’t born with a sexual inclination towards young boys, but more complex, a damaged product of a dysfunctional environment. Likewise, we observe and empathize with Carl’s rage and sadness; he slowly evolves into a predator himself.
     Newcomer actor Jordan Cooper paints a moving portrait of a boy’s sexual frustration and confusion. He’s unable to process his feelings, let alone, understand them. Cooper is a terrific young talent—the tears flowing down his cheeks feel real and justified. His character grows up to loath himself, and in effect, loathes others around him. Wolf won the Texas Competition Grand Jury Prize and deservedly so. I was absolutely taken in by the humanistic approach to such a disturbing subject.


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

               

Dallas Cowboys owner Jerry Jones has destroyed AMERICA'S PARKING LOT (part of Dallas International Film Festival)

     I’m not going to lie; the director of America’s Parking Lot, Johnny Mars, was a tacky host. After the screening, he walks in front of the audience, chugs down a bottle of beer, and spills the unwanted foam onto the ground. He seemed like the epitome of your average drinking-Dallas Cowboy fan. Furthermore, he refused to answer, in detail, majority of the audiences’ questions, antsy to get to the bar next door. I don’t know about you, but if I had a little documentary out in a film festival, I would put forth all of my energy to promote the film. After-parties are fun, but your appearance is not going to guarantee distribution of your film. However, my job is not to critique the filmmaker, but the film itself.

     When I learned that America’s Parking Lot was about the tailgate party-crew of the hard-core Cowboys fans, I was immediately turned off. Surprisingly, I found the documentary to be mildly funny, engaging and insightful. The documentary follows, without a judgmental attitude, several working-class Texans, whose most cherished pastime is to enrich the fan club of the Cowboy-parking lot scene.

     When Cowboys-owner, Jerry Jones, planned the destruction of the Texas Stadium for a much grander arena in Arlington, TX, the ticket prices divided the social construct of his customers. When the new stadium was built, Cowboys fans had to pay a hefty fee of $15,000-$150,000 for a season PSL (Permanent Seat License) ticket. To make matters worse, the PSL fee didn’t even guarantee you a seat at the games. 

     The Cowboys play in the most expensive, privately owned stadium in the nation. When about 1.2 billion dollars goes into the stadium, naturally, the ticket prices, parking, food and accessories are going to sky-rocket. The documentary explores the lively culture of a specific sector of the tailgate party, and how the cost to see the Cowboys play will only be convenient for the upper-class. Unfortunately, most of the die-hard fans are blue-collar citizens and can’t afford to be the avid fan they were before the new stadium.

     The filmmaker highlights the money issue by interweaving interview footage with reporters from various news publications. If you’re from Dallas, and are a devoted “fan,” I think it’s easier to relate how crucial the old stadium was to our sport culture. Football brings every race, nationality and social class together. The filmmakers have something to say about the small sector of the tailgate party, but if you’re already well-informed about the cost of these ridiculous PSL tickets, than it’s difficult to develop an interest in the film’s subjects.

     America’s Parking Lot has its moments of humor and interest, but I don’t watch much football, and I don’t necessarily go to the movies to learn about the high cost of being a Cowboys fan in the new stadium. In my opinion, I think the film works better as a TV special on a sports show.

** ½ (out of four stars)