Taken

A group of actors is about to become unemployed.

There’s a certain kind of actor out there – you know the type. A thespian like Mark Dacascos, say, or Steven Segal or Jean-Claude Van Damme. This guy is a working actor, he’s paying the bills, and he’s turning out one direct-to-video feature after another. In one film, he’s an ex-soldier out for revenge. In another, a kung fu master come down from the mountaintop to get the precious MacGuffin. In yet another, he’s a cop, or a spy, or an accountant who works out a lot. It’s all the same, and it all pays the bills: the actor sneers, he shoots, he kicks people in the face. Then he goes home, cashes his check, and everybody’s happy.

And then, a Liam Neeson comes along. An Academy Award nominee. A marquee name. Darkman, for Pete’s sake! And he makes a movie like TAKEN, in which he plays an ex-CIA agent who is both Out for Revenge and Getting the MacGuffin. Not only does he act the pants off of everyone else in the genre, but it turns out he’s got some pretty good moves in the stunt department, to boot. Hey, Liam, bit of advice: it’s unwise to enter these guys’ territory. They may be desperate men.

TAKEN, then, serves as an exercise in the farfetched: what happens when you take a capable, respected actor, surround him with stuntmen, and tell him to go kick some ass? I’ll tell you what happens: asses get kicked, and they kicked by a guy whose conviction the audience never thinks to question. Liam Neeson takes TAKEN, your standard, DTV-type revenge / MacGuffin thriller, and elevates it to something more: a study in desperation, in love, and in high-class ass-kickery the likes of which you’ve never seen before.

In the process, however, TAKEN calls the entire future of the DTV thriller into question. Will Judi Dench soon play an edge – of – retirement assassin out to do one … last … job? When can we expect Sean Penn to show us his chops as an idealistic former cop who must kickbox his way through a corrupt police force to avenge his former partner? Personally, I’m holding out for the mother lode: Kate Winslet as a post-apocalyptic savior, preferably one with a totally awesome car, or maybe eyes that blink sideways.

It’s only a matter of time. But when that day comes, a certain class of actor will be out of work. It’ll be Neeson’s fault. Perhaps he can hire a few members of the old cadre as bodyguards.

Torn Curtain

Casting is TORN CURTAIN's blessing and curse.

It's a blessing because Julie Andrews and Paul Newman are strong, magnetic performers with whom we feel a natural affinity. It's a curse because Julie Andrews is too powerful to convince as the devoted lover who'll follow her man to the gates of Hell, and Paul Newman is too fundamentally decent to convince as the kind of guy who'd take her there. But hey, give yourself a little extra nudge in the suspension of disbelief department, and you're in for a tight little thriller.

Here's the setup: Newman is a physicist who has been working on anti - ballistic missile project, since cancelled. Andrews is his devoted assistant and squeeze (there's some talk about a wedding date, but most of it's from Andrews). They're attending a conference in Denmark when Newman gets a coded message, grows cold, and departs in a rush with a lousy explanation about a job in Sweden. Andrews, no fool, checks his tickets and discovers that - gasp - he's on his way to East Berlin. Is Newman actually a communist spy? What's going on?

Since a movie like this relies on twists and turns, I'm not going to say much more about its story. I will say that Alfred Hitchcock, the film's director, could generate tension in his sleep. Even as he chooses sets and photographic techniques that remind us he's merely spinning a yarn, the guy knows how to do it. TORN CURTAIN clips right along, maintains a sense of adventure and danger, and generally does what it sets out to do. Even if it isn't entirely successful, it at least gives us an opportunity to spend a couple of hours with Andrews and Newman. And that ain't bad.

Frozen River

"For me, the human face is the most important subject of the cinema.” -- Ingmar Bergman

Observe the face of Ray. No. First, observe the toe of Ray. It sports an old tattoo, a remnant of wilder times. Now, observe the face. It’s lined; worried. The eyes, bordered in basic mascara, don’t blink away the cigarette smoke wafting from the downturned mouth. They do blink away tears formed in flicker of despair. The face, so near to crumbling, pulls itself together and Ray Eddy straightens, goes back into her single wide, and does her best.

Courtney Hunt, the writer and director of FROZEN RIVER, understands that Bergman was right. Hunt knows how to build a story, inspire pathos, pace a scene, and create near-unbearable tension, and she does it by focusing on faces. Whether we’re watching Ray, brought to life in an Oscar nominated performance by Melissa Leo; Lila, played with quiet assurance by Misty Upham; or the people who need them; we care about them because their faces compel us to do so.

Because of this, FROZEN RIVER takes a place among the most compelling films I’ve seen this year. This film hooked me in its first five minutes through the extraordinary power of the human face, and it hasn’t let go of me yet. Its dilemmas, its characters, its milieu feel absolutely real as I dwell on them, and I find that its power grows with greater consideration.

This is Courtney Hunt’s first film, and it’s a masterpiece. IMDb tells me that her next feature will be called Northline and, though I have no idea what it’s about, I plan to see it. This is a woman who knows what she’s about, and who understands that it’s all in the face.

Winning

WINNING is a lousy movie. It’s poorly constructed, features a show-stoppingly bad performance from a major supporting actor, and fails to excite even in its centerpiece racing scenes.

The film, set in the world of stock car racing, begins with Paul Newman winning a race. He has a few drinks at the victory party, wanders around town, and charms a local floozy. Three or four scenes later, they’re married, and the rest of the film depends upon my investment in their relationship. But here’s the thing: for a love story to work, we have to fall in love (even if it’s just a little) with the characters. With WINNING, I don’t even know who these people are, much less have a reason to care whether or not they make it as a family. There’s your weak foundation. The film is poorly shot and edited; with jagged and wobbly camera movements competing for your distraction with montages and transitions of such jarring mediocrity that it’s hard to believe this is a feature film. Finally, Dave Grusin’s dead-jazz score is so limp that it distracts us with its mediocrity.

While Paul Newman, Joanne Woodward, and Robert Wagner are all as fine and professional as you’d expect, Richard Thomas (in his debut role, playing Woodward’s son) is remarkably bad. Now, I like Thomas. Some years back, I saw him do a “King John” in which he absolutely nailed the role. But here, just starting out, he so overacts that I felt like it was all the more seasoned professionals could do to refrain from smacking him.

So you’re got your bad construction and your distracting performance, but it’s a racing movie, right? The racing must be pretty good. Nope. It’s just a bunch of shots of cars and closeups of eyes, with an announcer telling me what’s actually happening. I admit that I’m not a race fan, finding the sport to be even more boring than golf. But a good racing movie should have drawn me in nonetheless, made me feel the rush when the good guy passes the bad. Nope. I fell asleep during the climactic race.

As performers, I like Newman, Woodward, and Wagner. I’d have loved to see them together in a better film. Unfortunately, this isn’t it. WINNING is a loser.

It Happened One Night

Actually, it happened over a series of nights. But that's not important right now.

IT HAPPENED ONE NIGHT (Capra, 1934), is a romantic comedy / road movie starring Clark Gable and Claudette Colbert. Gable's the hard-drinking reporter whose dissolution hasn't yet caught up to his body and mind. Colbert's the spoiled society girl out to spite her father by running off to be with some pansy gyrocopter pilot. Circumstance throws them together in the back of a bus, with Gable telling Colbert, " Excuse me lady, but that upon which you sit is mine." "I beg your pardon?" Well, it will be soon enough.

The two most interesting things about IT HAPPENED ONE NIGHT are the dialogue (Colbert to Pansy: "Promise me I'll never get off." Bet on it, sister!) and the power dynamics. Released just months before rules requiring new releases to have the Hayes Code seal of approval came into force, this film seems innocuous, but has some real adult humor going on just beneath the surface. The power dynamics are an interesting combination of gender and class conflicts, with one message sent to women (Submit!) and another to proletarians (Revolt!). Just get a load of this line, spoken by Gable's "man of the people" to the Colbert's millionaire father: "What she needs is a guy that'd take a sock at her once a day, whether it's coming to her or not. If you had half the brains you're supposed to have, you'd done it yourself, long ago." Dominance and insouciance, apparently, made for successful mainstream entertainment back when the Greatest Generation was in junior high.

But hey, don't watch this picture for material to gripe about at your next meeting of the Working Woman's Collective. Watch this picture to see Gable and Colbert, performers at the top of their respective games, bang out dialogue with near-scientific precision. Watch it for Joseph Walker's cinematography and marvel at the way light plays off a white silk dress in glorious black and white. Watch it for Capra, who knows how to get the most out of even his bit players. Most of all, watch it because it's funny. Watch it with a loved on and bring down the walls of Jericho.

Underworld: Evolution

UNDERWORLD: EVOLUTION is impressive. It boasts imaginative set, costume, and makeup design. It weaves CGI and practical stuntwork into a rousing whole. Its set pieces are creative and interesting and, while it never manages to rise above being a bunch of actors and stuntmen hamming it up on increasingly complex movie sets, it’s a bunch of good actors and good stuntmen hamming it up in a fantastic (if barely plausible) world that’s an entertaining place to visit.

I first mentioned the set design because it really is remarkable. From the rustic inn where the first film’s Scott Speedman learns he can no longer eat normal food to the functionally baroque headquarters of franchise newcomer Derek Jacobi to the multilayered, rich-with-possibility crumbling ruin of the climax, every inch of the screen is filled with detail and imagination. Well done.

While I still can’t get past the idea of the leather corset as functional combat wear (Where does Kate Beckinsale hide all those weapons, anyway?), the leatherwork has details that relate to the decorative flourishes in the costumes of heroes and villains, suggesting a deeper mythology behind the story of this film. It’s neat, carefully crafted stuff, and indicates an attention to detail far beyond what one might expect in a vampires vs. werewolves movie.

The makeup, particularly that of the villain in full monster mode, is not only scary and convincing, but also bears marks of the costumer’s design sensibility, with patterning in the monster’s back that, you guessed it, shows up in the corset, Jacobi’s coats, and even the film’s Maguffin. It’s crazy; it’s lavish; it’s just the thing.

The action sequences (which comprise most of the film) build from the exaggerated to the just-plain-crazy, but that’s not their best quality. Not only do they blow lots of stuff up real good, but they actually advance the story and keep us in the loop of who’s doing what to whom and why. Sure, they defy the laws of physics and aerodynamics. So what? It’s a v vs. w movie. I went with it.

The whole thing combines to make for a film that’s better than its predecessor. It doesn’t share insight into the human condition, no, and it doesn’t make us laugh or cry. But it looks great, it sounds great, and it’s great fun.

I can’t believe I’m writing this, but bring on UNDERWORLD: RISE OF THE LYCANS.

Just Another Love Story

JUST ANOTHER LOVE STORY is one helluva thriller.

No, it's not one of those movies where cats jump out of closets or knives make a sshhhhkkktt sound when they're pulled from a block. It's a movie with a supertight screenplay, spot on performances, and a score that makes notice its beauty without pulling you out of the film.

I hesitate to write much about the screenplay, other than to say that though it was written in Denmark and produced in 2007, it would have felt right at home in the Hollywood of the '40s and '50s. It's good noir, as good as you're likely to find, with dangerous women, crafty villains, and men who should now better.

Rebecka Hemse plays Julia, a good girl gone bad, with just the right combination of vulnerability and danger. Nikolaj Lie Kaas is Sebastian, nothing but trouble and charm. And Anders W. Berthelsen is the crucial element so many noirs, the sap. It helps that I hadn't seen these actors before, but not for a moment did I not believe them or believe in their challenges.

"Ok," you're thinking. "I've never heard of this movie and you've given me nothing to help me decide whether or not to queue it up." Problem is, I really don't want to tell you anything about it other than to say that if you liked OUT OF THE PAST, if you liked DOUBLE INDEMNITY, if you liked STRANGERS ON A TRAIN; then you're gonna like JUST ANOTHER LOVE STORY. Take a chance, give it a spin, tell me what you think.

I can't wait to hear.

Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince

First, a note about the trailer for 2012: not even Chiwetel Ejiofor's name on the poster will put my butt in a seat for that one. Second, a note about the following comments: I assume that, by now, you know who the established characters are. Consequently, I'll not try to bring you up to speed.
HARRY POTTER AND THE HALF-BLOOD PRINCE begins with Harry Potter, bloody and exhausted, facing a media onslaught in the aftermath of the battle of the Ministry of Magic. Professor Dumbledore puts his arm around the boy, shepherds him away.

And then we're off, swooping through London with the Death Eaters, in a dazzling and frightening sequence that sets our hearts to racing even as it defines the stakes of the coming war between the forces of Voldemort and Dumbledore.

Back to Harry now, on a personal level as he navigates the currents of late adolescence and learns that, yes, he's pretty good at flirting, too. But Dumbledore appears and there's work to do.

The rest of the film is about a number of things, the story not least among them (Um, Spoiler Alert: Voldemort's up to something and it's up to Harry and friends to stop him.). And that's fine - it's a perfectly good story. But what makes the film worth watching, what makes it race right by, is the way it's also about finding oneself both in big and small ways, about the immediate pain of adolescence and the continuing process of growing into onesself.

Of course, there are a number of movies that address similar themes, and many do it well. What makes HPHBP unique is that it's a Harry Potter movie, a movie that lets us wander around fiction's most marvelous real estate and dazzles us with magic that ranges from mundane to whimsical to downright epic. Additionally, it lets us wander around with a group of actors we've come to think of as our own nieces and nephews; cute kids who are growing up all too fast, even as they make us proud. It supports these young actors with brilliant adults, including at least one who Can Do No Wrong. And it revels in its composition, unafraid to make the fantastical fantastic.

For these reasons and many more, HARRY POTTER AND THE HALF-BLOOD PRINCE is a flat-out great time at the movies. This one is worth catching on the big screen.

W.

W bounced on and off my Netflix queue a number of times. I knew that Oliver Stone is a major director, but I didn't particularly care to sit for a two-hour tomatofest directed at our 43rd president

Yep, I expected a hatchet job, and some blademarks are clearly visible: Dick Cheney's Strangelove moment in the War Room, the mannequin that stood in for Condi Rice. But the movie got at what I perceive to be the fundamental nature of its subject: a good man out of his depth. Josh Brolin was phenomenal, making us believe in his character at every step in his journey, and taking all those Bushisms and weaving them into the natural language of a guy whose brain often outpaces his mouth.

While watching the film, I wondered why it needed to be made in 2008. I think there's a difference between a sitting president and and an alumnus, no matter how recent. As the Obama team has learned with the lack of traction of its "blame Bush" public strategy, unless the last guy in the job was a towering figure, he may as well be Jim Garfield. W was urgent during 43's presidency because then, he formed a member of our perceived "circle," those people in our daily lives who have the greatest impact on us. Now, he's like a member of that circle who has since moved away. He's a person in whom we're still interested, but that interest lacks the immediacy it once had.

Immediacy aside, W is still a film worth watching. It's a take on a man and a time by a master filmmaker with a surprising point of view. It looks great, most of the supporting cast is terrific, and it was over before I knew it.

Beyond Hypothermia

BEYOND HYPOTHERMIA is a bad, bad film.

Wu Chien-lien is an assassin who falls in love, wants to change, but must complete one … last … job. Ching Wan Lau is the love interest. Complications ensue. Which is fine, really, and has served as a rough outline for films ranging from ghastly (NAKED WEAPON) to serviceable (BANGKOK DANGEROUS) to pretty doggone good (SO CLOSE). A movie like this isn’t about the setup. It’s about the delivery.

The delivery here is all wrong. BEYOND HYPOTHERMIA gives us no reason to care about its assassin (Sorry, honey. Being good looking just isn’t enough when you kill people for a living.), its love interest (Buddy, you’ve got to know when to fold ‘em.), or especially its poncy villain (complete with silly hair) who is supposed to provide the suspense and danger. The dialogue is stilted, the photography and editing elementary at best, and the stuntwork uninspired. Though this film was a product of the 1990s glory years of Hong Kong action, it lacks the style and creativity that mark the period.

When a film fails to engage us on any level, when it doesn’t tell an interesting story or give us interesting characters or even look particularly good, there’s only one word to describe it. That word is horrible.

That word applies to BEYOND HYPOTHERMIA. What a waste.

Underworld

I'm not UNDERWORLD's target audience, really. I'm not a gun, leather, or goth fetishist. In my action pictures, I like to know who's shooting whom, and why. And I hate having to constantly adjust the volume on my headphones so I can hear the dialogue one minute without blasting out my eardrums through gunfire and explosion the next. But I liked it anyway.

I mean, c'mon, Bill Nighy and Michael Sheen hamming it up in a vampires vs. werewolves movie? Y'know, the kind of movie in which everyone has machine guns but the big battles are all hand to hand? The kind where the bad guy is named Kraven and everyone's a fashion model who spends a minimum of three hours in the gym every single day? How can that not, at least at some level, speak to you? What, you don't like wirework? You don't like contact lenses? You don't like extremely loud and extremely bad rock music? You must like it when the good guy gets thrown through a wall and falls to a puddle below, and the masonry that hits the water with him floats. No? What's wrong with you?

Well, I thought it was silly fun, just the thing to pass the time while stuck in an airport lounge waiting for the weather to clear. Sometimes, that's all that's required.

The Wrestler

Darren Aronofsky doesn’t make bad movies.

PI, the feature that brought him to my attention, was odd and engaging and unforgettable. REQUIEM FOR A DREAM, his followup, ranks among the best movies I never want to see again. THE FOUNTAIN is one of only two DVDs I purchased that year.

THE WRESTLER, Aronofsky’s latest, does everything that movies are supposed to do. It introduces me to people and places that exist entirely outside of my experience and makes me care about them. Then it builds on that foundation to tell me a story that captures my imagination even as it breaks my heart.

In the film, Mickey Rourke plays “Ram” Robinson, a ‘roided out wrestling superstar who is well past his prime. Ram’s a decent guy, and he loves wrestling. But what do you do when the thing you love falls out of love with you?

This material could be an after school special or a DTV movie, but Aronofsky uses it to meditate on love and mortality and even honor, in a way. He evokes memorable and truthful performances, and his empathy for his people and their lives resonates with us well after the credits roll. In this director, we’re encountering a serious talent, a guy whose movies are worth seeking out. THE WRESTLER is a fine addition to his resume, and I recommend it without reservation.

TheDogs of Up, by Ian Alex Ellermann

My dad didn't mention the dogs in his review o' UP. But weren't the dogs awesome?!!? With mechanical collars that allowed them to speak English words?! C'mon, isn't that cool?

The dogs really helped boost UP to a good movie. Weren't the dogs awesome when some, maybe 3, were in planes?!!?

So I guess I did a short review, but remember: this is by a kid. Wait! Wait! Before I'm finished, wasn't it cool to hear the dog's voices through the collars and hear what they were thinking? My dad liked the dogs, too, but I think he should have mentioned them in his review.

The Hangover

THE HANGOVER is thin, but I laughed all the way through it. It isn't the best comedy I've seen so far this year, but it meets its goals.

Here's the setup: it's the day of the wedding. The best man; rumpled, bleeding, and standing in the middle of the desert; calls the bride and tells her, "We screwed up. We can't find Doug. I don't think the wedding's going to happen." We rewind to the beginning of the road trip, with four guys in a car on their way to Vegas for Doug's bachelor party, and away we go.

It's a fine setup for a movie, but so much depends on how far the filmmakers are willing to go to get the laugh. Fortunately, they're willing to go as far as necessary, piling the ridiculous on to the disgusting on to the witty on to the sweet. Here's a movie with legitimate comic surprises, well-delivered dialogue, and sight gags that work in themselves and as part of the larger narrative.

So I laughed, laughed, and laughed some more. But I already feel the movie slipping away. Unlike ROLE MODELS, the funniest thing I've seen in recent memory, it didn't have anything in it to hook me, to hang on to my imagination as I left the theater. The film is the cinematic equivalent of ice cream: fun while it lasts, but quickly forgotten.

Still, I can live with that. As long as you're in the theater, THE HANGOVER is a good time. That's good enough for me.

JCVD

JCVD is one weird picture. I like it.

In JCVD, Jean-Claude Van Damme plays himself, or a dramatically enhanced version of himself. His career is going nowhere: he just lost a part he didn’t want to Steven Seagal. His personal life is a shambles: he just lost a custody battle. His finances are ruined: he just bounced a check and he can’t get his plastic to work. So he does what anyone might do. He goes home to Brussels and goes to a bank to withdraw some of the money he knows is there. Problem is, he walks into a bank robbery.

There’s a passage in I Am Jackie Chan in which Jackie talks about a time when the studio at which he was filming got shaken down by the local mob. He was walking to work and was just outside the studio’s gate when three thugs approached with menace in their eyes. Jackie ran. Why? Because there’s a difference between stuntmen and thugs. Thugs can actually hurt you.

The guys robbing this bank are (in the context of the film, of course) real thugs with real guns that can actually kill people. Van Damme is quickly subdued and put with the other unfortunate hostages who happened to be around that day. Then the robbers realize they have a quite a bargaining chip, even a potential fall guy, and resolve to exploit him as best they can.

And there’s your movie. Van Damme is stripped of his bravado, his freedom, his remaining dignity. The film is a merciless flagellation of its star’s screen persona, offscreen missteps, and even purpose in life. It’s the most courageous thing Van Damme has ever done, requiring a level of dedication and honesty to which he may never before have subjected himself. And even if it isn’t entirely honest, even if it does wear a veil of fiction, what self-appraisal doesn’t?

JCVD didn’t turn me into a Van Damme fan: the guy makes DTV action pictures that don’t capture my imagination any more. But it did alert me to the possibility that there’s more to this guy than I thought. I look forward to his next serious picture. I hope he gets the chance to make one.

Breathless

Ok, I get it. I'm a terrible, bad person. I have no taste. I'm a vulgarian: the guy who shot off the Sphinx's nose.

BREATHLESS bored the hell out of me.

There were all these things about it that I know I was supposed to appreciate: the innovative use of jump cuts, the romantic amorality of its leads, its impact on cinema history. But the movie lost me the moment Jean-Paul Belmondo shot the cop, and that was only something like five minutes in. From there, I felt trapped as the spectator who watches a man fritter away his remaining moments of freedom. Not only did I want him to get caught because I wanted the son of a bitch to get what was coming to him, I wanted him to get caught because I knew that was the only way the film could (mercifully) end.

But this is an important film. It's the kind of film people study in school. It's one of those movies that taught the Boomers how to be cool. I understand that it's important, but I'm not in school, I'm not a Boomer, and I'm already cool.

Having said that, I'm open to the possibility that there's more there, that this is a film that can improve with study. Perhaps they'll offer a class in it when I wind up at Leisure World a few decades hence. Until then, this film represents only another Classic checked off the list.

Drag Me to Hell

DRAG ME TO HELL is everything I look for in a movie entitled DRAG ME TO HELL. It's scary. It's funny. It even has someone (perhaps more than one) being dragged to Hell.

I started out liking this movie: it had a likeable protagonist, a hammy medium, the borderline ubiquitous Justin Long, a gypsy curse, and even a slimy coworker whom we'd really like to see get dragged to Hell in place of the aforementioned protagonist. There was some great gross out stuff, good music, and general sense of a film that knew how to be scary without taking itself too seriously.

Let me tell you when I crossed over to loving this movie: the séance scene. [Oh, come on. That's not a spoiler. How could a Gypsy Curse movie called DRAG ME TO HELL not have a séance scene?] The medium did her thing. Puffs of air made the draperies in the ridiculously over the top chamber billow. Heavy objects moved around. Even ghosts appeared. And then the possession began. I swear to God, I half expected a spectral kitchen sink to show up! This is when I knew (not that I ever doubted) that Raimi was entirely prepared to go over the top, stick the landing, then come around and go over the top again.

So yeah, this is a genre film called DRAG ME TO HELL. But it's as good as genre films get, made by a guy who knows how to create a good time at the movies. It wouldn't take much to drag me back for another screening.

Frost/Nixon

FROST/NIXON captured my imagination from beginning to end. It took interesting people through definitive moments in their lives and the life of the nation, immersed us in their stories, and executed the impossible task of generating tension in a scenario whose conclusion we already know. And it does it while avoiding the talkfest trap so common to adaptations of successful plays.

Look, Nixon's interesting and we all know Frank Langella can act. So the movie's two strikes up in the count coming right out of the pen. But David Frost, the vapid talk show host who gets lucky with a big fish? And Michael Sheen to play him? Well, Sheen's a revelation. In THE QUEEN, he *was* Tony Blair, with all that entails. In FROST/NIXON, he does a David Frost whose shallowness hides depths of ambition and desperation that may be hidden even to himself. This guy's got range, and he also just got on to my "actors to watch" list. He makes David Frost, cheeseball tv performer, a hero the audience can get behind, and we relish the comparisons and contrasts with Langella's controlled, savvy, but lost Nixon.

Director Ron Howard handles those comparisons and contrasts, the heart of the movie, simply enough for a mainstream audience yet maturely enough for smart people like us. His direction, never flashy, borders on documentarian; and it gives the picture the realism it needs while remaining cinematic.

This is a quality film.

Gran Torino

Nick Schenk, the writer of GRAN TORINO, once told an interviewer how pleased he was that Clint Eastwood didn’t change a word of his script. More’s the shame, as it could have used a polish.

For example, there’s a scene in which Eastwood’s bigoted character is a guest in the home of his neighbors, Hmong immigrants. After some trepidation, he has discovered that he likes these people, feels more at ease with them than he does his own children and grandchildren. Ok, we’re fine so far. But then he goes into a bathroom, looks into a mirror, and says, “I have more in common with these people than I do my own family.” What was that, for the people who went out for popcorn? We’re watching the movie. You’re a good enough actor to portray the paradigm shift. You don’t have to tell us what we just saw.

The whole movie’s like that: solid material undercut by unnecessary dialogue. Just when we’re lost in the drama, something comes along that yanks us right out, something that could’ve been smoothed out with just one more pass through the word processor. As it is, GRAN TORINO is merely a good movie, with Eastwood playing on his persona to tell a story about a man who has carried his burdens so long and so passionately, it seems they’re carrying him. I bought his character’s arc even as I groaned at the script’s shortcomings, and I enjoyed the film even as I noticed its flaws.

GRAN TORINO isn’t going to change your life. It’s a little shaggy. But I’d watch Eastwood fold laundry. I liked this movie despite its flaws.

Timecrimes

TIMECRIMES is like a puzzle, a carefully constructed device that can baffle or amuse and makes perfect sense when you put it all together. It's funny, thrilling, genuinely interesting, and an all-around good time at the movies.

Here's the deal: Héctor's a regular guy. He just got a vacation home, so he's doing pretty well, but he's kinda schlubby and doesn't seem all that bright. His idea of a good time is sitting on the lawn and enjoying the view through his binoculars. Héctor doesn't know that there's a research facility nearby. He doesn't know that they're working on a time travel device. He doesn't know that everything's about to change.
And away we go on a tightly plotted time-travel thriller that accomplishes everything it sets out to do. I believed in the characters, I believed in the situation, and I enjoyed and appreciate the smart, tight writing that made this exercise in paradox an hour and a half well spent.