Review: Margaret

The story behind Margaret’s tumultuous journey to theaters (summed up in this article) threatens to overshadow the film itself. Kenneth Lonergan’s follow-up to his 2000 art-house hit You Can Count On Me has finally arrived after wrapping shooting in 2005 and becoming mired in legal-wrangling, creative disputes and various cuts of the film (including one by Martin Scorcese’s longtime editor, Thelma Schoonmaker), apparently all stemming from the fact that Lonergan was awarded final cut and remained unwilling or unable to finish the film. Six years later we are presented with this two and a half hour version, finally affording audiences the chance to bear witness to Lonergan’s vision.

Or is this Lonergan’s vision? It’s hard to tell based on the version of Margaret currently playing in limited release. In some ways it feels like an uncompleted work; scenes end abruptly, major character developments happen suddenly only to remain inconsequential to the narrative and several plot strands are left hanging by the end of the film. But what is so frustrating and, ultimately, so rewarding about Margaret is that it is unclear how many of these issues stem from its troubled post-production history and how many are intended by Lonergan himself. For you see, Margaret is that rarest kind of film in the current American cinematic landscape: A project that aims to be as dense and thematically rich as a novel. It’s a film that, in its sprawl and messiness, attempts to ruminate on the turbulent experiences of adolescence, shared trauma and the fear and confusion that accompanies tragedy, all wrapped up in an exploration of the emotional landscape of post-9/11 America. The ambition (or hubris, if you like) on display here is more than a little impressive and the fact that it works at all is a testament to Lonergan and his wonderful cast.

Margaret is the story of Lisa Cohen (Anna Paquin), a precocious, hyper-articulate New York teenager who leads a life typical to someone her age: attending school, dealing with her busy mother (J. Smith-Cameron) and estranged father and hanging about with friends. One day, while searching for a cowboy hat for an upcoming trip, she distracts a bus driver (Mark Ruffalo) enough to cause him to run over a pedestrian (Alison Janney, phenomenal in her one scene turn). Reeling from this turn of events, Lisa tries to find a way to cope, painfully attempting to process this trauma and accompanying guilt while dealing with her emerging sense of self and the myriad conflicting impulses and emotions that are beginning to arise in her.

That basic plot synopsis doesn’t really do justice to the scale that Margaret is aiming for. While Lisa’s tragic encounter remains the story’s heart and narrative backbone, the film is constantly spinning off in different directions. There’s Lisa’s mother, a stage-actress, who is simultaneously enjoying newfound acclaim in her career and being courted by a dashing gentleman (Jean Reno). There’s Lisa’s too-close relationship with a kindly teacher (Matt Damon), her reckless yet awkward foray into the realm of sexuality and her constant debates about the efficacy of the War of Terror in her classes. These plotlines are introduced with little fanfare and are returned to infrequently, fading in and out of the narrative as Lisa sinks further into confusion and angst. One storyline that does eventually develop into something more is Lisa’s relationship with a friend of the bus accident victim. As played (wonderfully) by Jeannie Berlin, she somewhat guardedly lets the volatile Lisa into her life, eventually deciding to hire a lawyer and pursue a fruitless civil suit against the bus driver who was behind the wheel on that day. The resolution to that story is fitting and fits in with Lonergan’s overall theme of the untidiness of human interaction.

This messiness isn’t just evidenced through the diffuse plotting; cinematically speaking the film also seems to sprawl. As our protagonist is walking down a crowded street we hear scattered passerby having conversations of their own, fractured reminders that these people all have lives and complications of their very own. Once or twice Lisa has a minor encounter with a little-seen character and the camera then follows that new character instead, as if threatening to make that person into the film’s next main subject. And more than once we see Lisa disappear into a sea of city-dwellers, losing our main character amongst the everyday business of everybody else.

As I said before, it s somewhat difficult to discern how much of this is intent and how much is due to a compromised cut of the film. Sometimes it feels like whole scenes are missing and plot developments (such as one character’s supposed abortion) are introduced without rhyme or reason. At best these elements contribute to the overall feel of the film, other times it feels like they never found out how to integrate what they shot into a cohesive whole, but it always remains interesting and often thrilling to watch.

Much credit for the overall success of the film goes to the performances. Anna Paquin, who has recently made herself more known on TV’s True Blood, delivers one of the most honest portraits of teenage vulnerability and angst that I’ve ever seen in a film. She is able to shift effortlessly between scenes of naïve self-assurance and overwhelming, self-doubting fear and she tracks the emotional development of Lisa flawlessly. The film’s strange release probably precludes any Oscar nominations, which is a shame, as Paquin’s performance is easily amongst the best of the year (male or female). The rest of the cast isn’t given as much to do, but most manage to make an impression. Matt Damon (in his 2005, slimmed-down Bourne incarnation) projects warmth tempered by meekness in his few scenes. Mark Ruffalo makes the most of his time on screen, making us feel sympathy for his character even as we witness Lisa conspiring to transfer all of the blame to him. Jean Reno is fine, if a bit broad, as the man wooing Lisa’s mother. Besides Paquin and the aforementioned Jeannie Berlin, the standout performance of the film easily belongs to J. Smith-Cameron, who invests Lisa’s mother with the air of someone who is truly doing the best they can, juggling work career and a family while genuinely trying (and often failing) to communicate to the volatile teen she is raising. She and Paquin’s scenes together are some of the film’s best, concluding with a scene in an opera house that is as moving and genuinely touching as anything you’re likely to see in theaters this year.

Margaret feels like an unfinished film. Within this 150-minute film is a three to three and a half hour masterpiece waiting to be revealed (the shooting script was apparently a whopping 300 pages). Even with the sometimes troublesome editing and plotting, however, one can see the greatness that Lonergan and company were reaching for.  This level of ambition is something that should be rewarded, not punished, and for my money the film is far more successful than not. In addressing a nation tangled in the destabilizing aftermath of tragedy, Margaret gives us a world filled with imperfection, a place with humans trying and failing to do what they think is right and people taking past, rather than to, one another. It’s a vision of the world, as chaotic and unfair as it can seem, that finds beauty and hope in the imperfect, tangled mess of people that populate it. It is a view that seems fitting for a film as sprawling and sincere as Margaret.

Fantastic Fest 2011 Review: You're Next.

Adam Wingard’s You’re Next takes a familiar horror scenario – a group of individuals find themselves trapped in a remote location, besieged by malevolent forces hell bent on killing them one by one – and makes it feel fresh and new. Part of this comes from the extremely canny filmmaking, which is aware of horror movie clichés and invokes or subverts them to pitch-perfect effect throughout. Another way that You’re Next manages not to feel like the hundreds of other slasher films of yore is in the plot, which branches out from the basic premise, throwing a couple of surprising twists into the mix to keep the proceedings lively and consistently tense. Utilizing a cast of indie staples (including horror director Ti West and mumblecore maven Joe Swanberg) along with such genre stalwarts as cult-horror scream queen Barbara Crampton, the film feels like that rarest of all things in today’s cinema: something unique and interesting. Not content to pander to genre fans, the film instead aims to take them on an exhilarating ride, which it pulls off with aplomb.

After a quick and suitably nasty prologue that gives a taste of the threat our protagonists will be facing we are introduced to Crispin (A.J. Bowen) and his girlfriend Erin (Sharni Vinson), who are traveling to Crispin’s parents house deep in the country in order to celebrate their anniversary. The celebration is doubling as a family reunion of sorts, as the grown children and their respective significant others (including Swanberg as Crispin’s cocky brother and West as a boyfriend of their sister) meet under the same roof for the first time in a long while. As they’re wont to do, old tensions come to the surface as sibling rivalry and other divisions come back into play. It isn’t long however, until the domestic drama is interrupted by homicidal figures lurking in the woods. Wearing creepily blank animal masks, these intruders (armed with crossbows and knives) are hellbent on exterminating everyone inside. As the body count begins to rise, the nature of the threat is revealed to be more complex than initially suspected, as well as one member of the family who is revealed to have much more to them than meets the eye.

As mentioned before, the plot is somewhat basic. Just three years ago there was a slasher film with a similar premise in The Strangers. But while that film was content to wallow in sadism and cheap nihilism, You’re Next spins off into something altogether unexpected once the initial siege has begun. I want to be careful about spoiling too much here, as much of the fun comes from the turns that the plot takes as the film progresses. Several times I thought that I had a pretty good handle on what the film was doing and where it was going, then suddenly the film would throw out a curveball and I was forced to reconsider my notion of what the film was doing. It’s such a pleasure while watching a modern horror film to be unsure as to what route the plot will take and which characters will end up alive or dead.

Wingard knows how to scare his audience as well and wrings some terrific jump scares from the proceedings. Clearly well-versed in horror movies, he manages to mix it up by playing on the audience’s knowledge of genre clichés and deftly misdirecting them. Even the moments that you expect to be fakeouts – the typical “oh, it was just the cat” scares – work like gangbusters here. As good as Wingard’s direction is, a lot of this effect also comes from Simon Barrett’s clever script, which balances character moments and scares very effectively. One character, in particular, is destined to become a new horror fan favorite, along the lines of Ash from the Evil Dead films and from where I’m sitting it’s more than deserved. In a genre as stuffed with memorable characters as the horror genre, it’s exhilarating to see a new one come along and blow everyone away for the first time (as definitely happened in the screening that I attended).

All of this would not be quite as effective without the support of a cast and everyone involved here is game. A.J. Bowen is suitably schlubby and his relationship with his family is in many ways the most developed of any of the characters. The other brothers and sisters are all up to the challenge of pulling this material off, but there are two notable standouts. First of all is Joe Swanberg; while I couldn’t stand the guy (or his film) when I saw Silver Bullets earlier this year, here he is perfectly smarmy as the “favorite brother,” providing some of the film’s biggest laugh lines. The other performance that must be mentioned is Sharni Vinson as Erin, who gets perhaps the hardest role to play and accomplishes it so well that she reveals herself as someone who deserves to be a star immediately so that we can see her in more movies. The antagonists are creepy throughout; even as their role in the story is revealed to be more complicated they retain their air of menace.

I don’t want to say too much about You’re Next; the film was picked up by Lion’s Gate prior to the screening and is not due for release until fall of 2012, a ridiculously long time to shelve a movie as filled with commercial potential as this one. I hope that whenever they cut a trailer they are very coy about what transpires, letting audiences discover it as mine did. This is one of those films that, if handled right, could be an audience favorite, building a fanbase and setting the stage for a new horror franchise. For right now, Wingard, Barrett and company have crafted one the best slasher film in years, one that isn’t a satire or a deconstruction, but rather a wickedly fun piece of work that hooks you from the beginning and takes you on a ride that you won’t soon forget. I can’t wait to see the film again and I hope that, when it is finally theatrically released, people discover it and enjoy it as much as I did.

Fantastic Fest 2011 Review: The Human Centipede II: Full Sequence

For all the notoriety garnered by its outlandish premise, Tom Six’s 2009 cult-horror sensation The Human Centipede was a relatively tame experience. The idea of a mad-scientist surgically stitching three humans front to end as a disgusting experiment (“100% Medically Accurate!” proclaimed the tagline) proved more gruesome in the imagination than anything that was actually portrayed in the film and the finished product displayed a somewhat admirable restraint in what it actually revealed to the audience. Soon after the film started to make waves, however, writer/director Six began making promises that the sequel would “make the first look like My Little Pony,” delivering on the disgusting potential of the premise to make the most revolting movie of all time.

Two years later, The Human Centipede II has arrived with no little fanfare; the British Board of Film Classifications refused to classify the film due to its extreme content, effectively banning it in the United Kingdom. That is objectionable to me for two reasons: One: because I am against censorship as a general rule and Two: because banning the film gives it more notoriety and the film, as disgustingly over the top as it is, doesn’t warrant the attention.

Martin is a hugely obese, anti-social loser who passes his days working in a parking garage in London and being emotionally abused by his unstable mother. Martin, who in his youth suffered sexual abuse at the hands of his father, is obsessed with the original Human Centipede, watching it over and over again and fantasizing about recreating the titular experiment for himself. In between being screamed at by his abusive downstairs neighbor, enduring death threats from his mother and pleasuring himself to a DVD of the original film, Martin begins to put into motion a plan to further the Human Centipede legacy, abducting people who pass through his parking garage and storing them in an abandoned warehouse, where he begins his deranged continuation of the work begun in the original film,

The first thing that should be evident from that plot synopsis of Human Centipede II is that it is not a direct sequel to the first film, but rather a film about the first one. Yes, much like Blair Witch 2: Book of Shadows, this is a meta-movie, one that purports to comment on the original film, its fans and the psychological toll that cinematic violence can take on fans of such fare. He even brings back one of the stars of the first film (Ashlynn Yennie) to play herself as an actress who becomes part of Martin’s twisted experiment. This is a risky proposition at best (see the aforementioned Blair Witch 2, or better yet, don’t), but at least it can be said that Six is not repeating himself here as might be the obvious route to take after having initial success.  Unfortunately that’s pretty much all that can be said about this sequel, as any cleverness or ingenuity begins and ends with the premise. The film itself spends its first two-thirds mired in tedium, giving us endless scenes of Martin watching the first film, being berated by his mother and every so often bashing someone over the head and dragging them to his grimy lair. We witness this procession of scenes play out no less than four times, the film seemingly determined to bore its audience to death. This stretch of the film isn’t helped by its approach to its characters, who either embody shallow Psych 101 character types (Martin is a crazed maniac because he was abused as a child), or are one-note, nightmarish fiends (besides Martin’s crazed mother, even his psychologist is a predatory creep bent on molesting him). Only a few of Martin’s slowly accumulating pool of victims are given any distinguishing characteristics at all; One is pregnant, one is a jerk with lots of tattoos and the others are faceless stand-ins existing to be mutilated horribly. After all this tedium one begins to long for something, anything, else to happen to alleviate sense of boredom.

The final half-hour or so, however, will make you pine for the preceding segment of film, as monotony is replaced by excruciating violence. “Be careful what you wish for” seems to be the motto for this part of the movie, as Tom Six gives viewers all of the viscera that was only hinted at in the previous Centipede. Flesh is cut, tendons are sawed through, tongues are ripped out, teeth knocked out with a hammer and more. All the while the camera lingers on the horrifying aftermath, lovingly rendered in black and white photography (which does nothing to diminish the impact). The inevitable “feeding” scene goes so far over the top that it reaches South Park-level absurdity that would provoke laughs if it wasn’t so repulsive. The concluding half-hour seems designed to test the limits of what an audience will accept in a horror film, but it’s all just too much. By the time the most heinous incident occurs (which involves barbed wire) I didn’t feel much of anything, because Six had already bludgeoned me into submission. An incident involving a pregnant woman manages to shock only because it goes to such ludicrous lengths to provoke a reaction. After all of this the film wraps up with an ending that is the definition of a cop-out, rendering everything that the film has shown you utterly without consequence.

The ingredients were there to make Human Centipede II a unique entry into the horror canon. The story contained the possibility to examine how movie violence takes its toll on those who watch it as well as how movie fans can pervert and distort their objects of fandom by crossing into obsession. Unfortunately the film’s psychology is much too shallow to realize that potential, so what the viewer is left with is a parade of tedium punctuated by violence so extreme that it becomes numbing. It seems that Tom Six has thoroughly exhausted his concept within just two films, though he has plans for a third. Human Centipede II will make you long for the comparative restraint and refinement of the first installment and reveals Tom Six as a filmmaker of disgusting, resoundingly limited imagination.

Review: Red State

To talk about Red State without bringing up the filmmaker is nearly impossible, because Kevin Smith has gone to great pains to make himself the center of attention in place of his work. From his Sundance stunt in which he publicly excoriated the major studio’s method of distribution – inflating marketing budgets so much that smaller films designed for niche audiences have no shot at profitability – in a room full of distributors and critics, to the announcement that he would be touring with the film and sometimes charging up to $70 a ticket in order to hear him speak before and after the feature, Smith has turned a low-budget, small-scale horror film into more fodder for his cult of personality. Love him or hate him, Smith is a showman and he has succeeded in making Red State seem like an event: something that every film fan should see in order to determine whether it’s an evolutionary leap forward for a one-time critical darling, or another downward step for a filmmaker who has (quite literally) gone to pot.

The film begins with three horny teenagers who answer an ad through a Craigslist-like service for a woman who will have sex with all three of them for money. The gang travels into the backwoods of Cooper’s Dell and meet up with the willing partner in her trailer. Soon enough the boys have been knocked unconscious, coming to in the local Five Points Church, headed by the eerily charismatic Abin Cooper (Michael Parks). Pastor Cooper believes that homosexuality and rampant fornication should be capital crimes and proves his point (after a long-winded sermon) by executing a gay man tied to a cross, intending to do the same to the boys. Meanwhile, ATF Agent Keenan (John Goodman) has been called in to deal with the cult using questionably severe tactics, This leads to a bloody standoff between the ATF agents and the brood occupying Cooper’s compound, all of whom are only too willing to die for their twisted beliefs.

Red State starts off heavy-handedly and remains that way through much of the runtime. Before the plot can begin in earnest, Smith has Travis (Michael Angarano) drive by Cooper’s group of zealots while they’re protesting a soldier’s funeral, wielding such signs as “God Hates America.” The point is obvious; Abin Cooper and the Five Points group are standing in for Fred Phelps and his hateful Westboro Baptist Church. Smith, not trusting us to get the point, then has Travis attend a class in which his teacher delivers gobs of exposition about the church and why they’re both dangerous and protected under the First Amendment. Though the film is a tonal departure from Smith’s previous ribald works, it retains his tendency to just have his characters talk endlessly, constantly telling and telling and then showing and then telling some more. Once the action begins at the church, Parks’ Cooper delivers a sermon that is longer than many actual sermons I’ve attended, layering on the fire and brimstone until one’s eyes start to glaze over. When the ATF arrives the film’s sudden shift into Waco-inspired siege film, though abrupt, momentarily promises to usher in some excitement, but Smith’s clumsy staging of these scenes put an end to that notion.  The film wraps up with even more speechifying, this time couched in a heavy dose of cynicism that comes off more like adolescent sneering than true world-weariness. There are genuine, contentious ideas that Smith is dealing with in this premise, which makes it all the more disappointing that the treatment they receive is so shallow.

Another issue with Red State is the characters. I’m not talking about the performances, which are generally excellent. Parks in particular is wonderful, delivering his hateful religious proclamations with creepy charm and barely-hidden malice. He gives his character depth that isn’t apparent in the other characters. But the rest of the characterizations remain strictly one-note. Goodman gives it his all but his character remains a cipher, a man whose primary story function is to react to everything else and occasionally change his character motivations from scene to scene. The three teenagers who start out as our protagonists are quickly discarded once the action starts, save for a totally unnecessary subplot involving Cooper’s granddaughter that serves only to allow Smith one more “shocking” moment to emphasize the film’s immature nihilism. They barely register, along with Stephen Root and Kevin Pollak in two other poorly defined roles.

There is a moment toward the end of Red State that suggests a story turn so bold that I was ready to overlook the film’s myriad flaws and re-evaluate what Smith was up to all along. Like the other interesting ideas in the film, Smith can’t stick with it, instead wrapping up with a scene that seems conceptually stolen from Burn After Reading. It’s a disappointing end to a film that fails to capitalize on its potential at nearly every turn, taking a volatile premise rife with contemporary significance and turning it into an unengaging action/horror film that constantly backs away from its most interesting ideas. In the end Red State will be more remembered for the circus of hype that its creator spun around it, a triumph for the filmmaker as a brand but a less than promising detour for Smith as an artist.

Review: Green Lantern

Well. I guess I feel kind of stupid.

I should have seen the warning signs. Certainly it seems like everyone else that I know saw them. Everyone telling me how bad Green Lantern looked, how silly and cartoonish the effects were, how garish the design of the film was and so on. But I still had hope. Being a fan of the comics, I thought that there was a chance the film would stand out from other recent superhero films, perhaps bringing a touch of intergalactic scope to a typically Earthbound genre. With such a diverse cast of alien characters as the Green Lantern Corps, with such a detailed (if indeed silly) mythology, with an actor as charismatic as Ryan Reynolds and a director who, in the past, has done great work (Casino Royale and Goldeneye), there was enough there to get my hopes up for a fun summer blockbuster, one that could kick off not only a new franchise, but do for D.C. Extended Universe on film what Marvel has been so successful at doing with theirs.

And somewhere, it all fell apart.

I don’t know where to begin pointing out the finger of blame for this movie, because almost nothing works. From casting to editing, from the script to the action, the movie fails in most every aspect. Let’s start with the plot. At the beginning we are introduced to the mythology of the Green Lantern Corps, an intergalactic peace-keeping force that utilizes green rings in order to harness the emerald energy of willpower (I know, I know). The Corps were once threatened by an entity of Fear known as Parallax, but were successful in trapping him for millennia. Due to a series of circumstances Parallax break out, ready to wreak havoc on the galaxy. After this we are introduced to Hal Jordan (Ryan Reynolds). He’s a cocky wiseguy, the type that has been Reynold’s bread and butter for some time. We see him in action as a test pilot, flying against computerized drones and, because he’s a totally unorthodox, badass rebel dude, we see him pull off a totally crazy move just to prove that he’s the best. Basically he’s Maverick from Top Gun. He has a really poorly defined relationship with Carol (Blake Lively), who is in charge of the company that makes the aircraft and is one of the best pilots alive and was once Hal’s girlfriend, I guess. After Hal’s reckless stunt, and after a pointless side-trip to visit Hal’s family (who are then never heard from again), Hal is chosen by the ring of Abin Sur, the greatest member of the Green Lantern Corps, whose ship has crash landed on Earth after being badly wounded by Parallax. Hal then travels to Oa (the Green Lantern’s home base) to learn about being a Green Lantern, which he does in a choppy training montage and then immediately decides he doesn’t want the responsibility. Why? Cause, uh, that’s what normally happens in these superhero movies, I guess. He then returns to Earth (for some reason he gets to keep the ring though) and proceeds to mope around. Meanwhile, Hector Hammond (Peter Sarsgaard) is recruited to examine Abin Sur’s body, which brings him into contact with Parallax, transforming the creepy scientist into a telekinetic with a hideous, bulging forehead. With Parallax himself fast approaching Earth, can Hal find it in himself to overcome fear, take his rightful place amongst the Corps and save everyone he loves?

So the plot is your standard superhero origin story. Those have been done to death in recent years, but there’s no reason that it couldn’t be fresh if the characters are ones that we care about and if the central conflict is compelling. Unfortunately this film is missing a few critical parts necessary to even make it a fun ride on a par with something like this summer’s Thor (which comes out smelling like roses when compared to this joyless tale). First of all is casting. While Ryan Reynolds seemed like a good idea at the outset, and could probably be a decent Hal Jordan in some other iteration of this film, here he seems miscast. It’s clear that this Hal Jordan is supposed to resemble Tony Stark, with his quick wit and charisma. However, Green Lantern’s creative team seems to have completely missed what made Tony Stark a compelling character; Robert Downey Jr. brought boatloads of snarky charm to the role, but the first Iron Man gave Stark a believable arc from self-absorbed jerk to selfless hero, taking pains to show the audience how his experiences in becoming Iron Man profoundly affected him and propelled him towards change. Reynolds is never given any material like that, so he tries to compensate by alternately moping about and whining about fear or cracking tedious (and likely improvised) jokes. It’s a little sad, seeing a talented actor trying desperately to salvage a role through his own charisma and still failing. Blake Lively is unmemorable as Carol Ferris; she doesn’t exactly embarrass herself, but hers is the standard “all-capable female heroine who becomes useless in the face of danger and must await her knight in shining (green) armor to save her.” Peter Sarsgaard has garnered some praise for his bizarre turn as Hector Hammond and he does manage to make his character at least memorably repulsive, mumbling his lines and generally acting like a guy who Chris Hansen would like to sit and have a nice talk with. The absolute best performance in the film comes from Mark Strong, under makeup and digital work, as Sinestro. As a Green Lantern who is skeptical of Jordan’s place as the first human Lantern, he brings a touch of authority and gravitas to a film that desperately needed it.

The performances aren’t the worst of the film’s problems though. This feels like a film that was severely manhandled behind the scenes and the bizarre editing of the film is the primary indicator. For example: After Hal gains the Lantern and the ring there is a scene of him attempting to say the oath correctly (which Abin Sur instructed him to do). After a few “hilarious” tries Hal finally gets it, saying the famous Green Lantern oath before becoming interrupted by Carol. Cut to the next scene of the two of them in a bar, where they have a painfully tedious scene where they exposit about their relationship. Then Hal walks out of the bar, beats up a few thugs with the ring and finally is whisked away to Oa. Why wasn’t he taken to Oa immediately after saying the oath? Why did they have to interject with such a boring, unnecessary scene? Another example has Hal as the Green Lantern showing up to stop Hector before he wreaks havoc, even though we’re given no indication of how Hal could possibly know anything was going on. It goes on like this for the duration of the film, and this choppiness effectively guts the film, leaving a series of seemingly disconnected scenes that seem to lack context. When you wait till the last 10 minutes to inform your audience about the shared history of your hero and villain then you’re doing it wrong.

What’s left is a film that doesn’t have much of a tone, veering from comic-book silliness in the action scenes to true discomfort in some of the scenes involving the villains. The score is as generic as they come, while the visual effects aren’t as egregiously bad as some have made them out to be, but the seams definitely show in a few moments. And the epic scope promised in the trailers? Well, as is often the case, everything has already been shown in promotional materials. What is in the film is integrated poorly; we are told that the Corps is a mighty fighting force, then we proceed to seem them do nearly nothing to protect the galaxy from Parallax: the ultimate manifestation of evil. When the film cuts from Earth to Oa it’s jarring and only serves to remind us of the weird places that the film could have potentially gone. It all adds up to a final product that feels like no one really cared about the final product, and if they did then they had no idea how to translate that affection to the big screen. I still think that, done well, Green Lantern could work as a superhero on film, but not with this creative team in place, not after this soulless mess. When your film ends with a giant alien fighting your hero in front of the Sun and it’s still not interesting in the slightest then you know you’ve got problems.

Review: Transformers: Dark of the Moon

By now you probably already know what you think of director Michael Bay; his reputation for making big, dumb action spectacles that eschew things like storytelling and characterization in favor of a constant series of bombastic, gorgeously photographed (if often incoherently edited) action scenes is well earned. Bay’s films are nothing if not distinctive, and his fetishization of machines, veneration of military might and childish sensibilities when it comes to things like sexuality and humor have found their perfect vehicle in the Transformers series, allowing him to indulge in all of his best and worst instincts as a director. But Transformers: Dark of the Moon arrives as something approaching an official apology, with even the director admitting that the second film (Transformers: The Legend of Curly’s Gold) was an often incoherent mess that was rushed into production without a finished script, or even a story. To that effect, T:DOTM is a vast improvement featuring an understandable (if pointlessly convoluted) plotline and some absolutely phenomenal action, though it does suffer from some familiar weaknesses that crop up in Bay’s films.

The film opens with an astoundingly silly prologue involving the Apollo 11 mission to the moon, which apparently led to the discovery of a lost artifact from the war on the Transformers’ home planet. We’re then reintroduced to Sam Witwicky (Shia LaBeouf), our hapless protagonist, currently living in D.C. and looking for a job. Though he has the support of his new girlfriend Carly (Rosie Huntington-Whitely), he’s dissatisfied with the turn his life has taken; after all, how does someone who’s helped to save the world twice adjust to working as a glorified office intern? Meanwhile the Autobots, led by Optimus Prime, are again working with the government to root out any Decepticon presence on Earth. As the Autobots learn of Apollo 11’s discovery of an alien technology crucial to the survival of their species, Sam’s efforts to keep himself involved (despite the protestations of the Secretary of Defense, played by Francis McDormand) lead him and the Autobots to a conspiracy involving both humans and Decepticons, one that has diabolical intentions for the fate of Planet Earth.

That synopsis actually simplifies things greatly. I didn’t even mention John Malkovich as Sam’s odd new employer, or Ken Jeong as (I think) a human involved with the Decepticons, or even Patrick Dempsey as Carly’s smarmy boss. The plotting for the first 80 minutes of the film is hopelessly convoluted and Bay throws so much of it at you without stopping to catch a breath that my head was spinning trying to keep up with what was going on. This section of the film isn’t helped by the director’s unfortunate tendency to pile on the pointless comic relief characters. Ken Jeong in particular stops the film dead to deliver some shtick, in the process delivering unnecessary exposition that surely could have been handled in a better, less grating manner. Thinking back on it, the film’s plot does mostly make sense (though there are huge leaps in logic endemic to this kind of blockbuster film), but the way that the screenplay is constructed confuses more often than not. Luckily once the film settles into it’s last, long action stretch, the plot untangles itself, giving us clear indications of what everybody’s objective is and what the stakes are for all involved in the final hour.

And what a final hour it is. Here is where Michael Bay steps up to do what he does best: Blow shit up real good. Much has been made about Bay being persuaded to film this installment in 3D, and for the first time since Avatar it feels like it is truly necessary for the experience of the film. While his shots are always well composed, one thing that the 3D forces Bay to do is to dial-down on the quick cut, frantic quality of his other films. The final battle of the last Transformers film is the most infamous example of this, with the action basically rendered incomprehensible by Bay’s seeming inability to hold a shot for any amount of time. Not so here, as the action is fluid and easy to follow, with the longer takes adding greatly to the action inasmuch as the audience can finally see the breathtaking spectacle happening before their eyes. The final battle, which takes place in Chicago refitted as a Decepticon war zone, is nearly an hour long and is filled to the brim with great action moments: soldiers in wing-suits diving out of a crashing helicopters, a gigantic, Dune-like mechanical worm creature burrowing from out of the ground, a sequence in which our protagonists try to escape from within a building as it collapses and many, many others. What keeps all this action from feeling as excessive and pointless as it did in the last one is that there’s a measure of care in the construction of the entire sequence. The action seems to flow logically from one point to the next, always keeping the audience aware of what’s going on and where the characters are in relation to one another. And though the stakes might be ludicrous, they’re handled in such a way to make us care about the action on screen in a way that Bay has rarely mustered before. In short, I think the final hour of T:DOTM is the director’s finest work and one of the best action sequences in years (easily the best of the Summer so far).

As for the actors? They’re functional, but none really stand out. Shia LaBeouf is a likeable leading man as usual and his humorous moments actually provoke laughter from time to time. Rosie Huntington Whitely is not as blank as I had feared; she actually brings more screen presence to the “stock female character” than Megan Fox did in the last two. I wouldn’t call her a “good” actress, but I certainly wouldn’t mind seeing her in a better written role. Out of the comedic relief roles (thankfully Shia’s parents are mostly absent from the proceedings this time) only John Turturro really stands out, once again attacking the role of paranoid agent Simmons with gusto. Francis McDormand? Well, she manages to keep a straight face the whole time, which she should be applauded for. The voice actors all bring the gravitas truly needed to inhabit computer-generated robots that transform into cars. The special effects are, of course, impeccable and the score is fine, if not particularly memorable (though there is at least one cue that seems ripped straight from Hans Zimmer’s Inception score).

 You probably already know if you’re going to like Transformers: Dark of the Moon. It is a Michael Bay film through and through, with the best aspects of his work (gorgeous cinematography, a true skill in constructing an action sequence) rubbing up against his worst instincts (his perfunctory approach to plot, a pretty bad sense of humor). As a fan, I can say that I had a really fun time with the film. I can say that if you’re a fan of the director’s work then you will be treated to an action spectacle to a degree unmatched this, or any other summer (and please, see it in 3D). To paraphrase Frank Miller’s Wolverine, “He’s the best at what he does.” Whether or not you think what he does is very nice will entirely determine your outlook on Transformers: Dark of the Moon.

Review: Midnight in Paris

A director as prolific as Woody Allen is bound to have plenty of misses to go along with the hits. But even an ardent admirer of Mr. Allen’s such as myself was hard-pressed to find anything redeeming about his last outing, You Will Meet a Tall Dark Stranger, a sloppy, unpleasant film that found an apparently apathetic Woody unable to create even a compelling framework from which to hang his sour misanthropy. Which is why it’s such a delight to discover that his newest offering, Midnight in Paris, is a wonderful film, easily his best in some time and one that reaffirms Woody as a singular storytelling voice in today’s cinema.

Gil (Owen Wilson) is, believe it or not, a struggling writer (it is a Woody Allen movie after all) who has come to Paris with his shallow, unpleasant fiancée Ines (Rachel McAdams), tagging along with her parents. Gil venerates the city, not as it exists today, but rather the Paris of the twenties, where writers like Hemingway talked shop with Gertrude Stein, where Luis Bunuel fraternized with Salvador Dali and the music of Cole Porter filled the air. Hoping for the possibility that the city will inspire him, and to escape from the insufferable pretensions of a family friend (Michael Sheen), Gil goes wandering around the city at night, only to be transported (the mechanics of this are left pleasingly vague) back to the Paris of Gil’s romantic yearning. Now, in the thick of this creative heyday, Gil couldn’t be happier, while Ines begins to question where he’s going to late at nights. But even as Gil connects with a beautiful French woman in the past (Marion Cotillard), his unusual circumstances allow him to question both his romantic conception of the past and his outlook on the present day.

Midnight in Paris finds the director moving away from the world-weary cynicism of his last two films and into the realm of magical realism. Even before Gil steps back in time Allen presents us with an idealized Paris, one we’re introduced to first in a picturesque, pre-credit montage of the city reminiscent of Allen’s love letter to his own hometown, Manhattan. Clearly the director is as in love with the city as his protagonist, which is fitting, as Gil is another in the long line of Woody Allen stand-ins (sometimes it’s hard not to imagine Woody reciting Gil’s lines). Luckily Wilson, who can be an understated comedic performer when paired with the right material, brings his amiable charm to the performance, which allows Gil’s typical Allen neuroses and mannerisms to be charming rather than grating (as can sometimes be the case). Once Gil takes the trip back in time, he is suddenly surrounded by the artists whose work he idolizes: people like Hemingway, Fitzgerald (both of them) and Dali. These roles are inhabited by a gallery of charming character actors, from the recognizable (Adrien Brody kills as Dali) to the less familiar (Corey Stoll, who’s worked mostly in television, brings a fierce concentration and roguish charm necessary to inhabit the role of Ernest Hemingway). While sometimes the sheer volume of influential artists Gil encounters can become a bit much– there are many variations on the line, “I’d like you to meet Luis.” “Luis Bunuel? The filmmaker?!” – each is memorable in their own way.

What elevates Midnight in Paris from being just a pleasant, time-spanning travelogue is Woody’s exploration of nostalgia and how it keeps us from moving forward as individuals. Early on in the film, Michael Sheen’s slick operator proclaims nostalgia to be a form of denial, one that denies the realities of the present for a comfortably idealized version of the past. While Sheen’s character is derided as a pseudo-intellectual, the film in some ways affirms his sentiments. While Gil’s time in the past is well spent, this fantasy of the past is just that: a fantasy. The film isn’t discounting nostalgia entirely, and it certainly conveys the allure of such a fantasy. But the romantic pull of the past, embodied by the mysterious and ethereal Marion Cotillard, has a flip side, a refusal to engage with the present and, thus, discounts the possibility for real growth. What Gil takes from his time spent in the past is valuable and, in acknowledging the realities of his present day circumstances, awakens him to the possibilities in his own life. It is a refreshingly uplifting outlook, and it’s gratifying to be reminded that Allen can evoke this sense of wonder and magic in what he would otherwise consider a cold, indifferent universe.

Midnight in Paris certainly has issues. As might be expected with someone who shoots a new script every year, some of the characters get shortchanged. Rachel McAdams, in particular, doesn’t get to have much dimension; she’s a shrew at the start and stays that way till the end, leaving us to wonder what Gil ever saw in her other than a sounding board reaffirming his own insecurities. Michael Sheen, delightfully smarmy in the few scenes he gets, is more or less discarded from the picture entirely; he could have done with one more scene. Luckily other characters that were probably thin on paper (McAdams’ parents in particular) are elevated by the performances and some great Woody Allen lines (“The detective agency says the detective has gone missing”). The cinematography is gorgeous at presenting Paris, both past and present, in a romantic light and the evocative score contributes greatly to that effect as well.

Woody Allen has said that he makes films only to take his mind off of death and that he doesn’t think that any of his films will be remembered. While one could certainly beg to differ on the second point, lately his films have started to feel as much a chore for the audience as they seem to have become for Allen himself. Luckily Midnight in Paris finds Woody (and us) escaping into the best kind of fantasy: A romantic fantasy of Paris as it was and as it is now, a fantasy where the artists of yesterday are living, vibrant inspirations for today, a fantasy where nostalgia is embodied as a gorgeous, unobtainable woman and where the world is, if only for 94 minutes, a place brimming with mystery, magic and possibility.