Rudderless - Move Review by Michael Clawson

Rudderless  

Starring Billy Crudup, Anton Yelchin, Felicity Huffman, Laurence Fishburne and William H. Macy

Directed by William H. Macy

From Samuel Goldwyn Films

Rated R

105 minutes

by Michael Clawson of Terminal Volume

What is the weight of a song? Where does its spirit reside? And how does it ensnare us in its rapturous grasp?

I first saw Almost Famous at an impressionable age, when movies didn’t just thud at your feet, but cratered into your soul. The Cameron Crowe film reaffirmed something I already knew, but in a beautiful way: there are songs (and albums and bands) in this world that change the fabric of your being. That was a lesson that the charismatic guitarist Russell Hammond helped teach in Stillwater, Almost Famous’ fictitious rock group.

So it pleased me to no end to see Russell Hammond, more precisely Billy Crudup, once again on a stage teaching us about the cosmic-spiritual connection that music initiates within us.

Crudup stars in Rudderless, a delicate, though overreaching, drama about a father carrying on the troubled music of his dead son. The film opens on the son, who we only really see once until a fateful news story about a school shooting. His father, ad executive Sam (Crudup), takes it hard and falls into alcohol, depression and then poverty. We pick up with him two years later, when a wayward box of his son’s mementos turns up at his doorstep. Inside are old notes, demos and lyric sheets — a time capsule of unlived musical dreams.

As a way to reacquaint himself with his son, and to get out of the ratty sailboat where he’s living, Sam learns the music and takes it to an open-mic night, where the music is a hit. He attracts the attention of Quentin (Anton Yelchin), a younger musician who won’t let Sam rest until they start performing together. They form a band, their shows get bigger, they develop a following, and the whole time Sam is concealing a dark secret — his dead son is the writer of all his music.

Rudderless is directed and co-written by William H. Macy, whose filmmaking lacks the depth and nuance of the captains who have directed him — the Coen Brothers, Paul Thomas Anderson, Rob Reiner, to name a few — although he clearly learned, if only through osmosis, what a great story looks and feels like. Some of the sequences are thrown together and chaotic, including a sabotaged boat regatta, and other scenes could be written with more depth and understanding of the central characters. But, as they say, Rudderless has good bones. It has a story to tell, and it’s a whopper.

Central to the plot is a twist so monumental, so audacious, so utterly believable that I’m damned near ready to spoil it just because. I won’t, but the urge is there. The twist comes with a single image, and it’s devastating on a nuclear scale. It alters the very atoms of the movie, a top-to-bottom overhaul. (Recall Spike Lee’s Red Hook Summer. That kind of twist. An epic horizon-flipping twist.)

Crudup plays the heartbroken father with a degree of calmness and ease. He underplays Sam, and it’s a terrific strength. Yelchin, the fiery little dweeb, is fine, too, although his hair is coiffed into a nest of punk tangles, odd for a kid who wants to play folky emo tunes with a 50-something. Laurence Fishburne plays a music store owner who dispenses lots of sage advice, to the youngsters and the adults. Selena Gomez also turns up, as does songwriter Ben Kweller, who plays one of the bandmembers. The music is exceptional, and just perfect for the story Macy is telling.

So what is the existential spiritual role of music in our lives? Rudderless — using warm performances and a story that is worth its weight in gold records — tries, and often succeeds, in getting to the bottom of that question.

Pride - Movie Review by Eric Forthun

Pride  

Starring George MacKay, Ben Schnetzer, Faye Marsay, Imelda Staunton, and Bill Nighy

Directed by Matthew Warchus

Rated R

Run Time: 120 minutes

Genre: Comedy/Drama

Opens October 10th

By Eric Forthun of Cinematic Shadows

Pride is one of the grandest celebrations of life and love I've seen on the big screen, a fiercely bold, brilliant effort that shines a light on UK gay activists in the 1980s. It's rare to see a film preach such valiant ideas and it always feels relevant, particularly in an age when homophobia continues to affect family life while making others sick at the thought of human beings treating each other so senselessly and hatefully. Leave it, then, to a British film set thirty years in the past to feel more culturally and politically relevant than almost every recent American effort. Here, we are provided with characters that are so joyously living life and attempting to communicate that gay and lesbian rights should not be something that causes this much uproar. Human beings loving one another is not unnatural; hating them is. That's at the forefront of closeted 20-year old Joe's (George MacKay) mind, a young man who walks onto a gay pride parade in hopes of being able to identify with others like him. Outsiders spew hate speech while an old lady holds up a sign saying he'll burn in hell. Homophobia is a universal issue.

The film takes place on the backdrop of the 1984-85 coal miners' strike in the UK, using Joe and his recently encountered gay friends as participants in pushing forth the movement. Joe meets a local gay rights' leader named Mark (Ben Schnetzer), alongside other members like Steph (Faye Marsay) and Mike (Joseph Gilgun). They form a group that will gain them attention and hopefully other supporters in LGSM, standing for Lesbians and Gays Support the Miners. It doesn't have a perfect ring to it, as some point out, but it gets the message across. Nonetheless, they head to Wales in search of miner supporters, cutting past the unions and heading right to the source. In this mining town, they find Hefina (Imelda Staunton) and Cliff (Bill Nighy), two people that endorse the movement and hope that the presence of gays might influence the miners to encourage raising money for support. There's plenty of backlash in the town, particularly amongst those that don't see how support for gay rights can align with the plight of the unionized miners. But support begins to build up as money is raised, and the two join forces in hopes that they can create a lasting connection to celebrate their lives. The content allows the performances to shine through, and all of the young actors are superb, particularly McKay. The adults provide subtlety in their actions and how bravely they embrace people that most of society scorns. Nighy is outstanding, as always.

The film feels so unique yet identifiable in its deft mixture of storytelling and emotion, slyly mixing in character development alongside its real-life story and consistent bouts of humor. It's a hilarious film, something that might not be seen in a premise as serious as this. Perhaps most importantly, though, the humor comes from the characters entering situations that ring true to their types, never forcing jokes and making them stem from their own unique minds. There's a particularly playful scene where Steph keeps asking to be affectionately called dyke since the men are only talking about themselves in offensive terms. She feels left out, but also embraces the term and uses it for strength. Beauty emerges from these characters and their search for happiness in a world that denies them that because it doesn't seem natural. It's a traditional plight for gay characters in film, but it still remains wholly resonant, especially when closeted characters receive encouragement to embrace their individuality. I thought, as the film reached its powerful, emotionally resonant conclusion, how audiences will view Pride in thirty years. Will we still have the same issues with gay rights in our society today, or will we be more embracing of sexuality and identity? All I know is that the film received the most applause of any film I have seen all year, and rightfully so. It's a remarkable achievement in humanist filmmaking.

The Judge - Movie Review by Michael Clawson

The Judge  

Starring Robert Downey Jr., Robert Duvall, Vera Farmiga, Billy Bob Thornton, Vincent D’Onofrio, Dax Shepard and Jeremy Strong

Directed by David Dobkin

From Warner Bros. Pictures

Rated R

141 minutes

by Michael Clawson of Terminal Volume

A group of brothers, some of whom have deep-seated emotional turmoil and father issues, have to team up and work together to save their fearless leader, a hard-headed warrior for justice who finds himself on the wrong end of the law in a swirling storm of adversity.

That description could easily be for the next Avengers movie — and look, there’s Tony Stark! — but I’m happy to report there’s not a Marvel hero in sight in David Dobkin’s grounded courtroom drama The Judge, about a cynical defense attorney who returns to his small-town roots to defend his father, the tough-but-fair judge of the small hamlet.

The defense attorney is Hank Palmer and he’s full of dry wit, motor-mouthed comebacks and snarky tirades. In the opening scene he pees on a pesky prosecutor who likes to chat at urinals. Are we shocked he’s played by Robert Downey Jr.? Nope. Hank is summoned home when his father, the Judge (Robert Duvall), is arrested for a hit-and-run death. The evidence does not look good: blood and flesh are in his Buick’s fender, convenience store security footage paints deadly intent, and the Judge can’t account for 10 missing minutes in his fractured timeline.

Hank’s legal skills are so slick — someone calls him Dershowitz as a joke — that he runs circles around the local prosecutor, a stony mountain of blandness played by Billy Bob Thornton, yet his worst enemy is the defendant, his stubborn father who refuses to listen to wise counsel if only because it comes from Hank, the family’s reluctant Prodigal Son. The Judge just doesn’t approve of many of his son’s law-bending antics — “Everyone wants Atticus Finch until there’s a dead hooker in the hot tub,” Hank tells his father.

The Judge could have easily been a staid courtroom drama, a John Grisham B-side, a flabby family squabble. But it takes its central struggle — father versus son, son versus father — quite seriously, enough so that you start believing Downey and Duvall’s epic performances. Some of it is funny and insightful (“I wish I liked you more,” the Judge tells Hank in front of his brothers) and then there’s a brutal honesty to other parts.

One sequence in particular, forever known as the Poop Scene, cuts to the depth of fathers and sons: yes, they often hate each other, but deep down they care more than either can adequately verbalize. The scene is shocking in its graphic depiction of age and sickness, and yet the crude depiction cuts through the barriers that separate bickering families. If The Judge were simply a courtroom thriller, it would be perfectly mediocre. But the layers of guilt, doubt and hostility of its central characters elevate the film into something more, something true and pure.

The movie is not perfect, though. It’s a little too wordy, and there are many passages of mindless exposition that serve as a lush bed of evidence for litigation later in the movie. I will say this, though: the film uses everything. Snippets of old 8mm footage, throw-away lines of dialogue, minor characters … The Judge doesn’t let anything die on the vine. I also really appreciated some of the inventive courtroom stunts, including one where Hank weeds out prospective jurors by asking what the bumper stickers on their cars say. Ingenious!

Although much of the script is weighted toward Hank and his father, heartfelt attention is paid to Hank’s brothers and several other key members of the small town. Vincent D’Onofrio plays his older brother, a former baseball phenom sidelined by Hank’s carelessness. Jeremy Strong plays his younger brother, an autistic man with a gentle soul and a vintage camera forever in his hand. Dax Shepard is a rookie attorney who can’t enter the courthouse (“the last great cathedral”) without vomiting near the court steps. Vera Farmiga is an ex-girlfriend who won’t let Hank ditch out on her again. Now, I mentioned The Avengers earlier, and I did that because The Judge has this moment where everyone assembles together Marvel-like to fight on the Judge’s behalf. It’s an invigorating feeling to see everyone rally around this polarizing character with so much compassion and blind faith.

The Judge is just funny enough, just serious enough, and just poetic enough to be the sleeper hit of the fall. And I hope it is.

The Judge - Movie Review by Eric Forthun

The Judge  

Starring Robert Downey Jr., Robert Duvall, Vera Farmiga, Billy Bob Thornton, and Vincent D'Onofrio

Directed by David Dobkin

Rated R

Run Time: 141 minutes

Genre: Drama

Opens October 10th

By Eric Forthun of Cinematic Shadows

The Judge uses the star power of Robert Downey Jr. and Robert Duvall to tell the character-driven story of a father-son duo reunited to save the future of their relationship. Coming at 141 minutes, the film becomes an overlong, repetitive journey into the heart of a man that was ravaged by a busy, overbearing father in his past and must accept that he is his father's only hope at having another chance at life. Courtroom dramas often rely heavily on the unique nature of their cases and the twists that arise from the developments and reveals on the stand, but The Judge pushes those proceedings aside and emphasizes the family drama at the heart of the film to occasionally effective results. There's a subtlety to the two lead performances and a handful of supporting gems that elevate the cliché-driven narrative, yet the film never builds up momentum and fills in the empty voids of storytelling with other trite plot points that feel all too familiar in an already worn out sub-genre.

Hank Palmer (Robert Downey Jr.) is a big-time lawyer living away from his small-town home. He mostly defends people known for being guilty of their crimes and feels confident in his work, despite struggles both at and away from home. Him and his wife are estranged after she cheated on him and their daughter, Lauren (Emma Tremblay), will soon be caught in the mix. For the time being, though, Hank must attend to his mother's death in a return to middle America and a small town that he wanted to keep in his past. He runs into his old fling, Samantha (Vera Farmiga), who runs a diner and seems to be living well while he avoids his renowned judge of a father, Joseph (Robert Duvall), like the plague. They don't get along since they disagreed on many things while they were younger, namely how to respect one another and deal with the others' foolish actions. One of those involves Hank and his brother, Glen (Vincent D'Onofrio), who used to play great baseball but injured his arm in a car accident while Hank was driving.

The incident that keeps Hank in town, though, is the arrest of Joseph on the count of murder. This reverses the playing field for a man that has judged others for crimes for the past forty years and must reconcile with the fact that he possibly killed a man he previously convicted. Joseph cannot stand the thought of Hank representing him and this creates a further divide, particularly as new details emerge about Joseph in his fragile state. The family drama that forms the heart of the film is undoubtedly inspiring and driven by emotional truths. There's something to be said about a mainstream, major studio-backed drama that recalls old Hollywood techniques and employs such visual reminiscences of classic studio films and does it with a serio-comedy feel. Inherently, though, what derives from such dependence on old material is predictability, since the narrative offers no true surprises and instead relies on big, dramatic moments to tell the audience when to feel something. A few intimate scenes arise, particularly between Downey Jr.'s Hank and Jeremy Strong's Dale, as their brotherly relationship prospers with Strong's affecting performance.

Robert Downey Jr. is magnetic on screen and stands as one of the only stars in the business today, and countering him with a legend like Robert Duvall brings out two powerful performances at the heart of the film. Yet like most Hollywood dramas, a big dramatic development happens halfway through the film and undermines the severity of the dilemma being addressed. I won't mention it for fear of spoiling, but it simplifies a complex issue that affects many people. Too many subplots pop up and fail to close out during the film, most involving Carla (Leighton Meester) and Farmiga's Samantha as love interests that drastically impact Hank's life. And lest I forget that the always appealing Billy Bob Thornton is used as a bland, intelligent prosecutor that has one quirk to define him as a person but mostly stands as an enigma to threaten Hank and his family. For every strong actor and character that attempts to emerge in The Judge, the story bogs itself down in exaggerated melodrama and lessens its impact. What could be a promising, intuitive drama about family life instead becomes overdone and unfulfilling.

Kill the Messenger - Movie Review by Michael Clawson

Kill the Messenger  

Starring Jeremy Renner, Mary Elizabeth Winstead, Rosemarie DeWitt, Tim Blake Nelson, Andy Garcia, Ray Liotta, Oliver Platt and Michael K. Williams

Directed by Michael Cuesta

From Focus Features

Rated R

112 minutes

by Michael Clawson of Terminal Volume

Late in Kill the Messenger, a journalist is awakened in the middle of the night by a chatty CIA operative who has come to set the record straight. “First, you’re attracted to the power. Then you’re addicted to the power. Then devoured by the power,” the agent says in the shadows. The journalist asks, why are you telling me this? “It’s my confession.”

It’s a pivotal moment in Michael Cuesta’s fantastic new film because it reveals how bad things have become for the reporter, and how much worse they’re still going to get.

The reporter is Gary Webb (Jeremy Renner) and he works for the San Jose Mercury News covering property seizures in Los Angeles drug cases. After a tip, he’s alerted to a courtroom where he witnesses a rather strange thing: a major drug case is dropped simply because Webb is in the courtroom. Federal prosecutors don’t want reporters poking around their key witness, a man named Danilo Blandon, so they drop all charges against a known drug kingpin. This only arouses the curiosity of Webb, who plunges headfirst into the crack epidemic of Los Angeles of the early 1990s.

Renner, channeling his inner Sean Penn, punches his way through this true story with ease, like he was destined to play Webb. But that could be said about many of Renner’s roles — he’s just phenomenal every time. Renner plays Webb like a crusty proto-punk clad in frayed canvas, Metallica and Rancid posters on the garage wall, shaggy hair billowing from his head and chin. When his son asks for advice, it’s a priceless nugget: “Don’t let the assholes win.” Webb is relentless, a characteristic that will bring about his rise and eventual fall.

While researching the elusive Danilo Blandon, Webb ends up at a criminal trial for a mid-level drug dealer who has a great line about his boss — “I was an elf. He was Santa Claus.” Because he can’t get to Blandon directly, Webb waits for him to take the witness stand and then feeds questions to an attorney from the front row of the courtroom. Under oath, Blandon drops a bomb: his boss was not another drug kingpin but a CIA operative. This game-changing fact sends Webb deep down the rabbit hole of government secrets. After trips to South America, countless interviews, prison visitations and a dangerous tour of an airport for drug planes, Webb connects the dots: the CIA was using drugs to fund contras in a secret war in Nicaragua, a war that congress refused to fund.

Webb’s story, with the headline “Dark Alliance,” shook American politics like an earthquake. And for awhile he was a media celebrity who received appearance requests from Montel, Jerry Springer, and 20/20 or 60 Minutes, as long as he would appear on one but not the other. A White House official, sympathetic to moths and flames, tells him, “My friend, some stories are just too true to tell.” But Webb told it. And then it all collapsed.

The downfall started mostly out of professional jealousy. The big papers were sore that the itty bitty San Jose Mercury News and it’s plucky no-name reporter scooped them. The CIA funded the drug epidemic, but the media was more interested in Webb’s reporting style. They were piranha until nothing was left of Webb. It was not a proud moment for journalism.

Kill the Messenger is a sensational journey through Webb’s story. I couldn’t take my eyes off it. Cuesta gives the story an immediacy and documentary-like feel with handheld cameras, inserts of drug busts and money-filled apartments, and he lovingly frames Renner as an old-school shoe-leather journalist, a martyr for the truth, a reporter who cut his own path through a story.

The film has an incredible cast, including Tim Blake Nelson as a defense attorney, Rosemarie DeWitt as Webb’s wife, Oliver Platt and Mary Elizabeth Winstead as overwhelmed editors, and Barry Pepper as a slimy federal prosecutor. A number of great actors have only single scenes, including Andy Garcia, Robert Patrick and Michael K. Williams. Ray Liotta, in a perfectly simple one-off scene, plays the trespassing CIA agent with the existential crisis.

The film does not leave the impact of Webb’s work up in the air. It states clearly that the CIA colluded with drug dealers to sell crack cocaine in the United States and to use the money they made to fund a war in South America. You might disagree with that prognosis, but Kill the Messenger has solid reporting speaking on its behalf. The film ends with political heavyweights confirming much of the CIA plot.

Gary Webb was right all along.

Kill the Messenger - Movie Review by Eric Forthun

Kill the Messenger  

Starring Jeremy Renner, Barry Pepper, Mary Elizabeth Winstead, Rosemarie DeWitt, Ray Liotta, and Andy Garcia

Directed by Michael Cuesta

Rated R

Run Time: 112 minutes

Genre: Biography/Drama

Opens October 10th

By Eric Forthun of Cinematic Shadows

Kill the Messenger aims to take a look at investigative journalism and how government corruption and seedy underpinnings can dismantle a man's professional and personal life. But despite an admittedly committed performance from Jeremy Renner in a relatively thankless role, the film never develops a sense of urgency around its "based on a true story" narrative. Focusing on real-life whistleblower Gary Webb (Jeremy Renner), a journalist for the San Jose Mercury News, the story explores the exposure of CIA involvement in the Nicaraguan civil war, particularly as United States-backed weapons were supplied to the Contras through money raised by drug sales. It's a dark, horrifying underbelly of our nation's government that the film badly wants to expose in a new light, and it uses intermittently effective scenes in the opening moments to elaborate on the tension between professional journalism and cooperative ignorance. But the hackneyed, painfully melodramatic family subplot that becomes the film's focal point in the second half undermines the brisk, rapid-fire, politically charged film that could have been.

Gary Webb is a journalist that has dealt with some past struggles in his work. An affair has caused a tumultuous relationship with his wife Sue (Rosemarie DeWitt), along with his recently turned 16-year old son Ian (Lucas Hedges). Their family life is far from perfect, creating an even harsher dichotomy once Gary receives information from Coral (Paz Vega), a femme fatale type that involved herself with drugs and realized that there was more to her husband's arrest than simple dealing. He was involved in a drug trade that included the government. The introduction of her character essentially allows the film to funnel exposition through her red lipstick-stained lips, with Coral exuding sexuality and basically acting as a noir-type before the film switches genres when necessary. The story then moves to political thriller as Russell Dodson (Barry Pepper) enters the picture, attempting to steer Gary away from the difficult scenario that awaits him. Gary travels around the country and even heads to Nicaragua to track down the exact origin of his claims and get the support he needs to publish his story.

In that moment, Gary becomes the biggest journalist in the country after exposing the government and all of its flawed actions. He broke the year's biggest story, or at least it seems that way. His story begins to fall apart once sources rescind their statements and the government wipes clean everything that points to the truth. There's a certain harshness to the central narrative driving the film, so it would be fitting for the characters to have urgency and immediacy in their actions and statements. So it's peculiar then, that outside of one scene involving Gary's editor, Anna (Mary Elizabeth Winstead), struggling to decide on how to post a particular article, the film doesn't move at a break-neck speed. The pacing forces the film to dismantle itself at the seams and focus on the family drama that undermines the central story: Webb's discovery and its aftermath. By making his character such a bland, mostly emotionless enigma with his family and an impassioned, vocal journalist, it creates an off-putting, mixed signal about his personality. Renner's performance is subtle only in sparse scenes and mostly asks him for large outbursts when the role requires more nuance than that.

The cast is superb and should stand as one of the most well-rounded ensembles of the year: Ray Liotta, Michael Sheen, Andy Garcia, Michael Kenneth Williams, Oliver Platt, Tim Blake Nelson, and more join the others listed above in a star-driven, women-less ensemble. The three females in the film are weak, submissive, and pushed aside by a narrative that doesn't care about their individualism but rather their importance to Webb's presence: Winstead's character only counters Webb to prove that he is right, DeWitt's character declares her hopeless love for him when he's clearly a reprehensible man, and Vega acts as a sex object that's given exposition because the narrative can't find another way to deliver subtle storytelling. I attended the film with a friend who said that the film is "5% really good, 5% mind-numbingly terrible, and 90% milquetoast." That's an apt description for Kill the Messenger, a film with a solid journalistic conscience that wastes its premise on derivative characterizations and simplified, monotonous developments.

Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day - Movie Review by Eric Forthun

Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day  

Starring Steve Carell, Jennifer Garner, Ed Oxenbould, Dylan Minnette, Kerris Dorsey, and Megan Mullaly

Directed by Miguel Arteta

Rated PG

Run Time: 81 minutes

Genre: Family/Comedy

Opens October 10th

By Eric Forthun of Cinematic Shadows

Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day doesn't feature the cataclysmically awful day that the title suggests, at least by an adult's standards. For a kid, I can imagine the day full of calamities and mishaps would be considered the worst day of their lives (so far). Maybe that's why the latest film from Disney, adapted from the 1972 children's book, feels so appropriate and cognizant of its target audience. The film is an acceptable family film and a pleasant, light romp, one that cares about characters and goes for simple, direct laughs. It's refreshing to see a kind-hearted film like Alexander amidst all of the self-serious, overly dramatic fare opening around this time of year in hopes of Oscar recognition. Here we have a film that carries a lead actor that will be seen at the Oscars (in Steve Carell, whose Foxcatcher opens in December) but doesn't fret about filling itself with insincerities.

The film centers on Alexander Cooper (Ed Oxenbould), a middle school boy that feels ignored on the day before his birthday. He gets gum stuck in his hair, his brother torments him, and his parents are busy trying to make their jobs work with such a busy schedule. Alexander's father, Ben (Steve Carell), lost his aerospace occupation seven months ago due to downsizing and feels the weight of the family on his shoulders. The recession destroyed his career. He's been searching for some job to hold but cannot find one that fits his set of skills; his days consist of "fammy" (father mommy) duties, namely taking their newborn to classes while driving around the kids to school. Ben's wife, Kelly (Jennifer Garner), works for a publishing company and has to deal with a new book launch happening on Alexander's birthday. If it's a success, she'll get a promotion. Alexander's sister, Emily (Kerris Dorsey), is playing Peter Pan at her school play while his brother Anthony (Dylan Minnette) has prom to manage with his high-maintenance girlfriend. Alexander merely wishes that they could all experience his struggles, and sure enough, his wish comes true.

The film is brisk and fluid in its developments, running a scant 81 minutes (77 without credits). I think that's a perfect length for a children's film, particularly as Alexander addresses all of its characters and their insecurities with the right amount of heart and poignancy. Disney family films often have that certain level of artificial assembly, feeling like many hands participated in making the film as easygoing and carefree as possible. There's nothing objectionable or challenging about social norms or familial structures, even if recession commentary stems from the parental struggles. Carell and Garner both deliver terrific performances in roles that give them basic outlines but they bring to life as tangible people. The adolescent performances are good if nothing remarkable, with all of the actors having excellent comedic timing. There are plenty of laughs. While Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day may sound like a chaotic drag based on its title and premise, it's a quiet delight that stands as substantive entertainment for families.

You're Not You - Movie Review by Eric Forthun

You're Not You  

Starring Hilary Swank, Emmy Rossum, Josh Duhamel, Ali Larter, and Jason Ritter

Directed by George C. Wolfe

Rated R

Run Time: 102 minutes

Genre: Drama

Opens October 10th

By Eric Forthun of Cinematic Shadows

You're Not You features two terrific performances from Hilary Swank and Emmy Rossum, actresses that elevate the predictable narrative through strong character arcs. The two people in the film come from vastly different backgrounds, both dealing with the repercussions of a disease as harrowing and life-changing as ALS (also known as Lou Gehrig's). Kate (Hilary Swank) is a classical pianist that lives in a nice home in a stable relationship with Evan (Josh Duhamel), a man who takes his job seriously and wants the best for his recently married woman. Kate, however, begins to shake one day and realizes that something might be going wrong. The film jumps to a year and a half later, with Kate partially paralyzed and unable to move her hands while her husband takes care of her every waking moment of every day. She needs a care taker, so in walks Bec (Emmy Rossum), a whirlwind of a college student that needs to get her life in check before she decides to care for someone else. There's work to do.

Bec tended in a nursing home a while back but aspires to be a musician. She's great at starting songs and horrible at finishing them, whether that be through writing or actual performing. She drinks herself to sickness multiple times throughout the film, sleeping with men and running late often while never committing to any type of relationship. Yet her employment with Kate enlightens her. Kate struggles with day-to-day tasks that people take for granted, like going to the bathroom and eating. That takes a while for Bec to adjust to, particularly as she realizes that Kate had similar career aspirations before everything changed. Rossum and Swank sell these roles exceptionally well, even as the material treads overly familiar ground in the second half. Rossum plays a rather unlikable, uncontrolled brat when she is introduced, allowing for Bec to transform before our eyes as she sees the suffering within Kate's life. Swank does a similarly affecting job as Kate, allowing her character to exude mental strength when she physically cannot do much and to demonstrate power as the disease rapidly takes control of her life.

Films about heart-wrenching ailments work only when they produce an unfamiliar narrative. Many films have attempted to address diseases like ALS, Alzheimer's, and Parkinson's but end up painting broad pictures about the victims and their relatives or families. You're Not You mostly avoids those tropes by showing the immobility and weakened strength of joints stemming from ALS, using struggles at a dinner table with friends and walking down a hallway as signs of Kate's crippling abilities. But the characterizations begin to grow more simplistic as the film progresses, and the narrative moves through the motions of melodrama rather than earning the emotion. It's unfortunate considering it hinders the film's power when it should floor the audience. Swank's work here is exceptional and aligns with some of her strongest work, using transformation as a means of expressing change. It's compelling. Director George C. Wolfe, best known for making Nights in Rodanthe, uses similar storytelling ploys to get maximum drama, and while that takes away from the film's overall impact, the performances shine through. ALS is a serious, tragic disease, and You're Not You enlightens us in an inconsistently moving way.

#Stuck - Movie Review by Michael Clawson

#Stuck  

Starring Madeline Zima, Joel David Moore and Abraham Benrubi

Directed by Stuart Acher

From Stupendous Films

Rated R

87 minutes

by Michael Clawson of Terminal Volume

After fractured thriller Memento hit it big, many films tinkered with alternating, time-bending plots. #Stuck has the unique distinction of stealing the narrative structure wholesale with no attempt to alter or deviate from Memento’s intricate layout.

#Stuck begins its theft, like Christopher Nolan’s mystery thriller from 2000, smack dab in the middle of the story: Holly and Guy (like Guy Pearce from Memento) wake up after a one-night stand to take stock of their respective hangovers. Holly’s car is across town, so Guy offers to drive her. As the sobering-up couple get snarled in an epic traffic jam — she calls it the “drive of shame” — the film is intercut with flashbacks that begin with the sex (shot in an awkward first-person perspective) and then creep backward in time with each new flashback, revealing the foreplay then the dancing at the bar, then the drinking at the bar and eventually their arrival at the bar. So, as one part of the film trods forward, the flashbacks lumber backward.

Although, the setup is not original, and not altogether necessary, it provides an interesting dichotomy: the further away from the middle #Stuck gets, the more I liked it. Holly and Guy are terrible drunks, and their buzzed banter is cringeworthy, but as their monumental traffic jam balloons to absurd proportions — engines are shut off, motorists hang out of open doors, UPS drivers tinker on their phones — they slowly begin to reveal who they are.

Guy, played by Joel David Moore (the lanky sidekick in Avatar), is a hook-up artist, but also a nerdy tax dweeb with a license plate that reads “APR 15.” Holly, played by Madeline Zima — equal parts Moira Kelly, Meg Ryan and Maggie Gyllenhaal — is a lawyer and serial monogamist. Together they don’t have much chemistry, but they’re so likable on their own it’s almost forgivable.

Stuart Acher’s film looks and sounds very low-budget, because it is, although he uses his money and resources wisely. Notice how the traffic jam scenes take place on a slow curve on a Los Angeles freeway, which prevents us from seeing down a long, and expensive, row of stopped cars. And when he can’t shoot thousands of real cars stacked up on the highway he uses budget CGI to show the scope of the carmageddon. It’s cheap, but also kinda charming.

Where #Stuck, which has the hashtag for no discernible reason, gets especially mired is in its wonky dialogue. There’s simply too much of it, and whole passages lead to dead ends, as if anyone cared what Guy really thought about women and cell phones — “Another vibrating device that men have to compete with,” he shrugs. The writing quality is most noticeable in the sex scenes and random sex discussions, because there is nothing worse than bad dialogue except bad sexually explicit dialogue.

The film ends precisely where you expected it to. On the other side of the Memento curve, it begins in a place you won’t expect, which might make you wonder why the film had flashbacks to begin with. I wondered that, too. Maybe it just got stuck?

The Blue Room - Movie Review by Eric Forthun

The Blue Room  

Starring Mathieu Amalric, Léa Drucker, Stéphanie Cléau, and Mona Jaffart

Directed by Mathieu Amalric

Rated NR

Run Time: 76 minutes

Genre: Thriller/Romance

Opens October 10th

By Eric Forthun of Cinematic Shadows

The Blue Room tackles marriage and infidelity with precision and tact, ruthlessly portraying the lengths that people will go to preserve their love. The film is directed by its French lead actor, Mathieu Amalric, an acclaimed character actor from studio films such as Quantum of Solace and The Grand Budapest Hotel. He has made an exploration of love that spiritually feels connected to French New Wave cinema, using hypnotic flashbacks and expert framing to tell a story far more expansive than its admittedly simple premise. These are complex characters with lustful motivations. Julien Gahyde (Mathieu Amalric) is married to Delphine (Léa Drucker), and they live in a respectable home with a lovely daughter. Julien doesn't love Delphine, though, but falls for Esther Despierre (Stéphanie Cléau), the wife of one of his friends. They meet in a blue room at a hotel to secretly make love as often as they can.

They bite at each other, they lie naked for hours after making love, and they embrace every chance they get. Their love is fully realized. Yet the film jumps between those flashbacks and a darker, modern narrative, with Julien in custody for the supposed murder of...someone. When it's revealed that Esther is also accused of a similar crime, the case feels embroiled in passion and jealousy. The story doesn't extend much past that initial set-up, using criminal questioning and the court case itself as the means of delivering the full narrative. The flashbacks reveal a troubled marriage that was fueled by a wife full of suspicion and a husband full of ambivalence. A key scene involves the couple going on a date to the movies, him parking the car while she buys tickets, and him driving as quickly as possible down the street to meet with Esther. The silence in the theater between the two shows the silent, tragic acknowledgement of the truth behind their façade.

Stunning cinematography traditionally comes hand-in-hand with French filmmaking, so it's unsurprising that the distanced, cold glance of the camera further isolates the couple and their cheating actions. A stark mirroring device by Amalric accentuates the passion and lack thereof that exists between the two separate couples: blood drips from Julien's lips after a sexual encounter leaves his lip a little bloody, while an encounter at home with Delphine uses a similarly colored liquid in an equally affecting way. The film treats sexuality as candidly and appropriately as it should, considering its necessity to understanding the narrative. Nudity is treated as nonchalant and Amalric never moves away from what needs to be seen. The film silently floored me and made me feel similar to Gone Girl, since both films focus on disintegrating marriages in a modern society and the way that passion can be both lost and regained. The Blue Room is a short, more deliberately nuanced take on the material, making for a devastatingly honest romance.

Automata - Movie Review by Michael Clawson

Automata  

Starring Antonio Banderas, Melanie Griffith, Dylan McDermot, Robert Forster and Birgitte Hjort Sørensen

Directed by Gabe Ibáñez

From Green Moon and Millennium Entertainment

Rated R

by Michael Clawson of Terminal Volume

What began as a crusty Blade Runner clone quickly turned into a fascinating sci-fi experimentation before evaporating into the wind. Automata has no shortage of ups and downs, that’s for sure.

It opens in a neon-painted haze of cheap futurism. And there’s Dylan McDermott doing his best “Marlboro Man in space” impression. “This is not going to go well,” is the first thing I thought about Automata. But then the Gabe Ibáñez’s film started to grow on me, and then it impressed me. A lot. I can’t say that I stayed impressed, but that’s life at the movies.

I didn’t know anything about Automata walking into it, which is rare even for people who avoid the trailers. I went in so green to Automata’s charms that it took me a minute to recognize the star — “Holy shit, that’s Antonio Banderas!”

He plays Jacq Vaucan, an insurance agent for a big robotics manufacturer in the distant future, when boxy robots clunk around as maids, dishwashers, chefs and babysitters. These aren’t the sleek space-bots of other sci-fi films, but the slow-moving plastic robots coming out of Japan even today. The robots, called Pilgrims, are programmed with basic protocols: first, to not harm anyone, and secondly, to not attempt to alter itself or other robots. The first protocol is the catch-all, and the second is the insurance policy, because a robot can’t change the first rule due to the existence of the second.

For the most part, the protocols work, until strange things start happening: one robot is seen fixing itself, another sets itself on fire in an attempt to hide evidence, and a third, a sex robot, seems destined to start a robot revolution, which goes against both protocols, not to mention all of Isaac Asimov’s robot rules.

The early parts of the movie are infused with mystery and wonder — and minimalist low-fi special effects — while the characters propel forward seeking out answers in the techno-geek universe. Jacq and his robot counterparts fall a little flat, but the world is so intriguing it fills in the holes with its neo-apocalypse details: a giant robot-built wall separates the city from a nuclear wasteland, everyone wears Blade Runner-like plastic raincoats, holographic billboards use the skyscrapers as stripper poles, the gloomy fluorescent-blue lighting gives the world a headache-inducing sheen and the sky is filled with metal blimps, huge dirigibles tethered to the earth with clusters of metal pipes. Occasionally the blimps rain contaminated water down on the city and its plastic-wrapped residents. What does it all mean? I don’t know that Automata has all the answers, but it sure does look great.

The middle of the movie begins when Jacq and several robotos, including the hooker model (voiced by Banderas’ soon-to-be ex wife, Melanie Griffith), escape the city and start pulling a Lawrence of Arabia across the nuclear desert. And this is where the movie started to slip. The mystery and building dread abruptly stop as the human and his robotic buddies wander through the wasteland. I kept hoping their ultimate destination would be a worthy payoff, but it’s mostly just wandering to no end. After 30 minutes of this, it’s sad to look back at the beginning and recall how fresh and inventive it started. It could have been this year’s District 9, but then it floats away. Not that’s it a complete failure — it just had so much potential.

Still, though, sci-fi fans will find plenty to gaze at in this under-the-radar flick.

Automata - Movie Review by Eric Forthun

Automata  

Starring Antonio Banderas, Dylan McDermott, Melanie Griffith, Robert Forster, and Birgitte Hjort Sørensen

Directed by Gabe Ibañez

Rated R

Run Time: 109 minutes

Genre: Sci-Fi

Opens October 10th

By Eric Forthun of Cinematic Shadows

Automata is an ambitious science fiction fable that tackles its lofty premise in occasionally affecting ways, opting for familiar tropes of the genre and a simplified, melodramatic romantic story instead of conceptually driven storytelling. The film produces an engrossing lead performance from Antonio Banderas in a role that asks him to be on the brink of death for much of the story, allowing his troubled soul to consider his personal life and just how much his family means to him. What allows for a promising emotional core turns into a derivative sci-fi tale with lofty themes: what if human beings have grown inhuman while robots have evolved into conscious, emotionally charged beings? It's a semblance of a strong thematic pull that could've been told in an excitingly new way. Instead, it feels like a combination of blockbuster elements from films like I, Robot and A.I.: Artificial Intelligence.

The film centers on Jacq Vaucan (Antonio Banderas), an insurance agent of ROC, a robotics corporation that has prided itself on its advanced automatons. Thirty years into the future, solar flares have messed with the Earth's atmosphere, killed 99.7% of the population, and humanity had to recuperate somehow. By developing these automations called Pilgrims, they put in two protocols that they must follow in order to sustain human life: they cannot harm human beings, and they cannot repair or replicate themselves. Sure enough, Jacq's investigations lead to him finding robots getting past that second protocol, repairing themselves and resembling some form of consciousness. He also has a home life involving a pregnant wife, Rachel (Birgitte Hjort Sørensen), who mostly exists as a love interest while Jacq fights for his life. Meanwhile, Wallace (Dylan McDermott) and other members of the robotics corporation hunt down Jacq on suspicion of him helping the robots bypass the protocols, fueling anti-robot rage.

There's a certain technical capability to Ibañez's direction, as he tackles an extraordinarily massive topic and attempts to produce it around a single individual on a modest budget. Emotionally, the film doesn't tackle nearly as many powerful moments as it should, but there's a scene that strikes me with its audacity and bluntness. Jacq discusses the future with a robot that has clearly developed an understanding of humanity, and the robots puts it eloquently: that humans are finite and robots can use their evolution to be infinite, all of which is thanks to humanity's conception of robotics. That's powerful. Visually, the film stuns and captivates because the effects feel seamless. The robots interact masterfully with humans and the story uses them to build interesting cinematography around the dichotomy between the two. Ultimately, though, the story relies on clichés and an overly familiar, rudimentary romance that simplifies the female's role and makes her dispensable. Nonetheless, ambition is admirable and Automata uses its far-reaching premise to sporadically engaging results.

Meet the Mormons - Movie Review by Michael Clawson

Meet the Mormons  

Directed by Blair Treu

From Excel Entertainment Group

Rated PG

78 minutes

by Michael Clawson of Terminal Volume

In 1948, an Air Force pilot dropping food and provisions to civilians over Soviet-controlled Germany during the Berlin Airlift came up with a risky idea: as he cleared the blockaded city he would make one final drop, one filled with candy and sweets for Berlin’s children.

He got the idea earlier while standing next to the border fence and talking to the children, who were pawns in a larger Cold War game played after World War II. The pilot, Gail Halvorsen, split two sticks of gum and handed them through the fence. The children were in awe — the ones that didn’t get gum sniffed the foil wrapper.

Later, risking a court martial and an international spectacle, Halvorsen began what would later be called Operation Little Vittles, a plan to drop candy into communist-controlled Germany.

Oh, and Halvorsen is a Mormon in case the title was a little misleading.

The pilot’s story is one of six told in Blair Treu’s documentary Meet the Mormons, a film meant to humanize a religion and its curious, at times strange, members. Make no mistake about the film’s intentions: it’s a PR symphony orchestrated and funded by the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, known colloquially as the Mormon church. The roots of the film likely come from the church’s last media blitz, which included commercials of normal-looking folks proclaiming, “I’m a Mormon.” None of the commercials looked this amazing, though — seriously, the photography is gorgeous.

Halvorsen’s story is easily the most fascinating, although examinations of separate families from Nepal and Atlanta are insightful and show varied cultures in a church widely known for its lily-white Utah-dwelling members. We first see Halvorsen as he’s soaring over California, light glittering off the water, the sunset hugging the horizon in a warm embrace. “God created this,” he says, and surely many will agree. Religion and faith creep into some of the interviews, but the film allows its subjects to speak about who they are, what their lives are like and, eventually, why their church is right for them. It’s preachy, but in a subtle, non-threatening and informative way.

Meet the Mormons examines the roles of the church’s clergy, white-shirted missionaries, its reach around the globe, and its influence and inclusion in modern culture — an opening narration is quick to quote Mormon references in South Park, Fletch, 30 Rock, The Simpsons and other entertainment. (Although, shots in Times Square don’t acknowledge the Broadway musical The Book of Mormon.) It does an interesting job showing varied people, including a Costa Rican female kickboxer, a single mother, a professional football coach, and the couple from Nepal, who risked alienation from their community when they began practicing their western Christian religion.

Because it’s created by the church, don’t expect in-depth examinations of the religion’s more newsworthy items. For instance, its support of anti-gay legislation is not something that comes up. It’s mostly a feel-good look into the LDS church and the lives of its members. Mormons, obviously, will treasure it and what it represents to them and their faith. Curious non-Mormons might find some value in the stories, as well. Most audiences, though, will likely recognize Meet the Mormons for what it is: a PR project designed to launch a national discussion about the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. (The church has announced that all proceeds from ticket sales will go to the Red Cross.)

Now, full disclosure, I’m a Mormon. Have been all my life. As a member I can honestly say that Meet the Mormons captures the spirit of the church and what it means to be a member. As a film critic, though, I can’t help but think that Meet the Mormons is a little flimsy. These stories are inspirational, but not quite enough for a full documentary. The look and feel of the film is genuine, but it beats the central theme — “Mormons are just like you! — over your head one too many times. That being said, though, the film is bland yet cheerful, and altogether innocent. If it makes people question their ideas about who or what Mormons are, then it likely served its producers' purpose.

Dracula Untold - Movie Review by Monte Yazzie

Dracula Untold  

Dir: Gary Shore

Starring: Luke Evans, Sarah Gadon, Dominic Cooper, and Charles Dance

Opens October 10, 2014

by Monte Yazzie - The Coda Films

Bram Stoker’s iconic monster finds an origin story in “Dracula Untold”, though the vision of darkness is substituted with a less immortal creature for a more morally human leader forced into a desperate decision to save his family and homeland. Director Gary Shore incorporates most of the typical subgenre tropes and attempts to lavish up the story with breakneck CGI that mostly feels like a distraction.

Vlad (Luke Evans), retired from Impaling, lives a peaceful life with his wife Mirena (Sarah Gadon) and son (Art Parkinson). Peace doesn’t last long as the head of the Ottoman Empire, Sultan Mehmed (Dominic Cooper), demands one thousand Transylvanian boys for his forces including Vlad’s only child. Faced with this decision Vlad chooses defiance, though he is severely undermanned for the impending war. Knowing defeat is imminent Vlad follows folklore into a cave where he meets an ancient supernatural force (Charles Dance). Vlad is granted the power to defeat his enemies but in order to regain his mortal life he must resist the temptation to feed on blood or risk being a creature of the night for eternity.

Much of the vampire mythos remains intact here; blood serves as life while sunlight and silver are still objects of weakness. Vlad is portrayed counter to the brutal tales that typify his legend, here Vlad is an honorable family man and diligent ruler. However, his past exploits of ruthless warfare are still presented, given explanation by an upbringing in captivity and a motivation to strike fear into his enemies. The progression of Vlad's character happens rather quickly and somewhat sloppily, it soon becomes a waiting game for the impending encounter with the dark force. This meeting is the shining moment in the film particularly because of the use of veteran actor Charles Dance as The Master Vampire. Dance controls the scene with a menacing allure, playfully taping his long fingernails across the drawn sword of Vlad before easily disarming him. It’s easily the scariest, a loosely used term here, in the film.

The progression of Vlad’s abilities are exaggerated by an abundance of computer graphics, thousands of bats uniformly assisting in battle sequences as Vlad orchestrates with a composer-like performance. While in other scenes hand to hand combat shifts with a mix of hyper movements that are reminiscent of the producing company’s other property “300”. It never works as nicely as it should, mostly because it’s not implemented with any subtlety to enhance the scene instead feeling more distracting and overdone.

Luke Evans does a suitable job as Vlad, his fear for his family and regrets of his past come through nicely in a few scenes. With “Dracula Untold” you are getting everything the trailer conveys, simply an effects driven horror film that offers the viewer a safe Halloween option at the movie theater. Unfortunately for genre fans looking for the frightening Dracula from Stoker’s tale, this origin is fairly tame.

Monte’s Rating / 2.00 out of 5.00

Gone Girl - Movie Review by Michael Clawson

Gone Girl  

Starring Ben Affleck, Rosemund Pike, Carrie Coon, Tyler Perry, Neil Patrick Harris and Kim Dickens

Directed by David Fincher

From Twentieth Century Fox

Rated R

149 minutes

by Michael Clawson of Terminal Volume

Gone Girl starts at the beginning and ends where it started. It’s construction — and ultimately it’s vast manipulation — is circular and dizzying. When it was over I wasn’t sure if I wanted take a deep breath and stagger out of the theater, or go for another ride.

Here is a film that knows what it is and where it’s going and does not for even a single nanosecond waver from its course. It’s complete and fulfilled — cinematic zen. Not a frame of it is out of place. It is a capable picture, one executed with precision and skill by, of course, David Fincher. He’s been making movies like this his entire career, and yet this one demonstrates his absolute mastery of the medium of motion pictures.

The film stars two characters on similar trajectories, but in different locations. Picture two satellites circling a planet but on opposite sides of the same orbit: their views are different, but their journey is the same. One of the characters is Nick Dunne (Ben Affleck), a washed up Missouri writer with mountains of debt, a dive bar and a wife who might hate his guts. His wife is Amy (Rosamund Pike), and in the opening scenes she turns up missing. Nick seems concerned, but not overwhelmingly so.

As the police launch their investigation, the town first comes to Nick’s side to help him search, and grieve, until they realize that he may have killed her. He has no alibi, the crime scene looks staged, evidence has been tampered with, and there are some concerning journal entries, some of them told in flashbacks by Amy herself. There’s also the issue of Nick smiling at press conferences, seemingly unconcerned about Amy’s whereabouts, and he’s hiding secrets that threaten to destroy his wholesome public image. As the case drags on, people in town start staring and sizing him up: “Yeah, he could be a murderer. Definitely,” their eyes suggest. A TV news anchor in the style of Nancy Grace, the self-appointed public executioner on daytime television, all but indicts Nick for a murder that still has no body or murder weapon. A downward spiral shifts him out of orbit.

That’s the first act of Gone Girl and I don’t dare tell you further plot points since the film is built around its tightly packed secrets, and saying any more would be like walking through a minefield wearing Ronald McDonald’s sneakers — very dangerous. The cast is large and complicated, and every performance is marvelous, especially Pike, who plays a narrator so unreliable that I was silently wondering if she even existed at all. Her performance is transcendent and terrifying. Affleck, with some of his Batman muscle already showing, holds his own as the knot Nick tied for himself is pulled tighter and tighter.

The rest of the cast is glorious: Neil Patrick Harris plays a scorned ex-lover, Kim Dickens is a whip-smart detective, a grown-up Patrick Fugit is her partner, Tyler Perry plays a high-profile defense attorney, and Carrie Coon, the glue of HBO’s Leftovers, is Nick’s supportive sister. Coon takes a disposable supporting role and elevates it into the stratosphere.

Stepping away from the story and cast, though, Gone Girl is an exploration in technical subtlety. The nuts and bolts of the film, often overlooked in movies, are profoundly focused here, so much so that you might not even notice them, which is the way it should be. The cinematography is dark and moody, with lots of saturated colors and shadowy accents, and it perfectly suits the growing tension in Nick Dunne’s collapsing world. I loved a scene during a candlelight vigil; lights above Nick’s head cast long menacing shadows over his eyes and face. The editing is often slow and simple, yet also astute and nimble when required. The editing is punctuated by the mesmerizing and meditative score, which fades in and out as the film jumps around in time with Amy’s deceptive journal entries. Gone Girl doesn’t have the editing of a Scorsese film, the music of a Quentin Tarantino, or the cinematography of a David Lean, but even without all the flash it feels competent, balanced and efficient.

The film comes from the blockbuster novel of the same name by Gillian Flynn, who also wrote the screenplay. I have not read the book, although it’s on my reading list, even now that I know how it ends. And speaking of endings, of course this one packs a wallop. I wouldn’t expect anything less from the guy who killed Ellen Ripley, murdered Tyler Durden, solved the Zodiac case, saved Facebook and had one of his most popular picture end with a FedEx delivery. Fincher knows how to cap off movies, and he’s an expert on guiding characters to their destinies, no matter how pathetic, violent or rewarding they may be.

What’s so remarkable about the way Fincher and Flynn tie up Gone Girl is how circular its journey is. It’s a film about manipulation and control and deception. While Nick might be a victim in this spiraling whirligig, he’s also the perpetrator. And we are his subjects.

Gone Girl - Movie Review by Monte Yazzie

Gone Girl  

Director: David Fincher

Starring: Ben Affleck, Rosamund Pike, Carrie Coon, Tyler Perry, Neil Patrick Harris, Kim Dickens, and Patrick Fugit

149 Minutes

Rated R

by Monte Yazzie - TheCodaFilms.com

David Fincher has made a career taking audiences to dark places with bad people. In the beginning moments of Gillian Flynn’s scripted adaptation of her popular novel “Gone Girl”, a man is gentle caressing the head of a beautiful woman, the way two people in love would, however the voice-over narration concerning the situation is a violent soliloquy of hatred. Fincher meticulously expands the impressions of deceit and hatred seen in the opening and seduces the viewer into a two hour plus unsettling journey that is also completely mesmerizing.

Nick (Ben Affleck) and Amy Dunne (Rosamund Pike) portray a fairy tale like existence, one that blossoms with the kind of flirtation and charisma that is inevitably bound to end with a storied kiss in the perfect atmosphere. A few years into marriage and the sheen of new love has dulled and problems, like a fledgling economy, puts adversity into the relationship. Survival instincts take over and difficult decisions are made uprooting the couple to the Midwest. Distances grow bigger and the once inseparable couple are now strangers living under the same roof. Then Amy disappears under circumstances that place Nick at the wrath of a media circus.

Flynn’s novel is told with a unique perspective, offering alternating discussions from the point of view of both Nick and Amy. It’s complex and would seem difficult to sustain intrigue and mystery, however in the skillful hands of David Fincher the film comes to life with a flood of harsh emotion. To explain or offer specific examples from the film would be to spoil the surprises of the multifaceted character driven narrative. Fincher’s recognizable aesthetic of color-drained scenes highlighted by a mixture of contrasted grey and blue make the film feel void of life, a design that accommodates the characters who themselves display heartless feelings and actions. It’s never an easy or pleasurable experience to watch unfold, terrible people doing terrible things, and in fact feels and emulates characteristics more akin to a horror film. It’s impressive how the film crafts the characters, painting them initially in amiable ways then revealing the composed façade. Fincher makes you root for different characters, forcing the viewer to change allegiances, yet at the core you are ultimately cheering for a different kind of villain.

Ben Affleck is great as the charming though deceitful Nick, his small-town-guy appeal is noticeable from the beginning and exploited often. Whether to redirect suspicions or emphasize trust, Nick is a pawn for the narrative transitions and Affleck executes. Rosamund Pike is exceptional. Amy is conniving, methodical, and overall intelligent. Fincher incorporates these qualities with physical changes and emotional outbursts that range from controlled to frantic. Pike strikes every note. The supporting cast is pinpoint, from Tyler Perry’s shrewd defense attorney to Kim Dickens’ discerning detective, everyone accomplishes.

David Fincher’s filmmaking is meticulously composed to keep the viewer from finding their balance. Gillian Flynn’s narrative structure accommodates the design, the score evokes an emotion of dread and despair, and the performances are near impeccable. While the film may drag just a bit in the latter half, Fincher never loses grasp but instead keeps the tone darkly entertaining and the mystery enthralling until the credits role.

Monte’s Rating: 4.25 out of 5.00

Gone Girl - Movie Review by Eric Forthun

Gone Girl  

Starring Ben Affleck, Rosamund Pike, Neil Patrick Harris, Tyler Perry, Carrie Coon, and Kim Dickens

Directed by David Fincher

Rated R

Run Time: 149 minutes

Genre: Mystery/Thriller

Opens October 3rd

By Eric Forthun of Cinematic Shadows

Gone Girl opens and closes on the same haunting shot, as one emphasizes an eerie voiceover while the other primarily focuses on a person in the frame. It's only one of the many devastatingly effective tactics in David Fincher's film, a twisty, manipulative, compulsively gripping story of the disintegration of a marriage and the search for a wife gone missing. The titular character is Amy Dunne (Rosamund Pike), whose husband Nick (Ben Affleck) used to work as a journalist before both him and his wife lost their jobs due to recession downsizing. Nick's departure from his house one day seems just like every other, but upon his return he notices a glass table broken, signs of a struggle, and a missing wife. Something went horribly wrong. The police begin to investigate and realize that things don't add up: Nick's strange, ambivalent behavior signifies psychopathic leanings while his portrayal of a blissful marriage and a friendless, quiet Amy shows that their coupling has some mysteries.

The story gains mainstream media attention and cable news eats up the story, accusing Nick of murdering his wife while suspicion increasingly leads toward a domestic incident. Did Nick Dunne kill his wife? That forms the framework for the film and propels the action forward slowly and methodically. Nick and Amy's marriage gets assessed through flashbacks as the audience sees the couple through a manipulated lens from an untrustworthy point-of-view, considering the deceit that continues to unravel over the film's duration. Yet the beginning of their love was strong and resonant for both, with passion in both of their hearts and a sex-filled romance that never let up. Gillian Flynn's script loyally follows her novel while economically cutting the pieces that need to be tossed, even if that means discarding much of the social commentary that went along with the couple's dismantling. The semblance of economic hardships leading to a frustrated, desperate marriage only graze the surface of Fincher's overarching cinematic themes.

Yet the central twist of the film, if that is even the appropriate term for such an important plot development, lays the fabric for the film's drive and makes the story all the more rapid-fire and confident. Fincher and his longtime editor, Kirk Baxter, make a wholly unique narrative through the splicing of the flashbacks and the rest of the narrative in the second half. Scenes take longer to develop and spend more time on characterizations and exchanges in the film's opening moments, providing a lack of urgency and feeling melodramatic. That's undoubtedly intentional considering the tonal change the editing creates in the second half, as scenes become more economical and rigid in style, with compact, airtight moments emerging in the sea of mystery. It's startlingly effective filmmaking. The music by Reznor and Ross, their third collaboration with Fincher after their Oscar-winning The Social Network and nominated The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, is their most subtle and moody to date, staying quiet only to pounce when needed.

The reason Gone Girl clicks and unravels with such vivacity and deranged power is Rosamund Pike. She delivers a compellingly chilled performance that uses her dynamic voice to mesmerize and trick the viewer. The film grows into a cat-and-mouse style affair that works because of her energy and confidence; she is a bold, strong woman that fights for herself and stands as one of Fincher's strongest female characters to date. Affleck is perfectly cast and demonstrates his magnetism as a star power in today's business, hiding plenty underneath his calm demeanor to show the capabilities of a man trapped in a publicized struggle with an equally powerful wife. Even if the film briefly addresses the social issues that work within the dynamics of the film and only briefly captures the manner in which media can consume, contort, and control a high-profile case, Fincher still brings his touch to this 149-minute criminal investigation of suburban hell. The film's cinematographer, Jeff Cronenweth, may not explore as many challenging scenes as he usually does, but the darkly tinted, wealth-stained images emphasize the brutal, harsh world that these characters inhabit. Gone Girl stings and leaves the viewer both cold and wanting more. That's an impressive feat.

The Good Lie - Movie Review by Eric Forthun

The Good Lie  

Starring Reese Witherspoon, Arnold Oceng, Ger Duany, Emmanuel Jal, Corey Stoll, and Kuoth Wiel

Directed by Philippe Falardeau

Rated PG-13

Run Time: 110 minutes

Genre: Drama

Opens October 3rd

By Eric Forthun of Cinematic Shadows

The Good Lie comes from the producer of The Blind Side, a similarly themed film focusing on an African-American football player from a troubled home going under the wing of a wealthy white woman. It was a tale that won Sandra Bullock an Oscar and made over $300 million worldwide, but it was ultimately a film about Bullock's character rather than a story that appropriately tackled race. The Good Lie becomes its own specimen of socially aware film, one driven by emotional power and independently-minded storytelling that makes it a special breed of major motion picture (particularly when it's advertised star Reese Witherspoon is non-existent for much of the film). Centering on the "Lost Boys of Sudan," the story starts in Sudan in the 1980s and focuses on a group of youngsters: Mamere (Arnold Oceng), Jeremiah (Ger Duany), Paul (Emmanuel Jal), Mamere's sister Abital (Kuoth Wiel), and Mamere's brother Theo (Femi Oguns). Facing the turmoil of a civil war in their home, they flee the country and aim to find refuge in a less volatile place.

Theo surrenders himself to armed militants to save the others' lives, so their trip takes them to a bordering country where they find hospice in a refugee camp. The first thirty minutes of the film is almost entirely subtitled and tells a harrowing story that feels too devastating to be fiction. That's because the film is based on the true story of these boys (and girl) and their journey to America, which doesn't happen until roughly ten years after their arrival in the camps. When they arrive in the United States, Abital gets separated and sent to Kansas City while the boys head to Boston, so they make it a mission to get her back. They are so hopelessly unfamiliar with everything that Americans have: they do not know what a running toilet is, they do not recognize why people throw away old food in the grocery store, and they do not understand formalities that Americans exchange when they don't mean something.

They are put under the supervision of Carrie Davis (Reese Witherspoon), a woman who helps people like Mamere and folk find jobs upon relocation. Carrie is an untidy, unhappy woman that has lost people close to her and doesn't connect herself with many around her, but there is something that strikes a spark in her about these boys. So she takes them under her wing and aims to guide them through their transition while giving them a sense of family that they lost a long time ago. The film casts itself in the aftermath of 9/11, allowing the story to comment on the struggle of travel and transportation at the time and the stagnation of the refugee program. While using that backdrop, it shows the different struggles each person faces upon their arrival: Paul is efficient at building things but falls into a web of drugs in his workplace; Mamere works at a grocery store but wants to get his sister and brother to Boston; and Jeremiah faces an issue of losing his ethnic identity in his workplace.

It's rare to see a studio film as politically charged and character driven as The Good Lie, which goes along with how refreshing and authentic everything within it feels. There's a sentimentality and kindness to its approach and the way it explores these Sudanese characters over any others; Witherspoon is an advertising piece that is good but not even close to the focal point of the story. The casting of actual Sudanese refugees makes the story feel lively and true to its nature. Philippe Falardeau's direction excels in delicacy and substance, even if there are very few moments that ring inauthentic; those few feel as if they are mocking the central characters and their obliviousness to the new world, but that might be the fish-out-of-water component. Mamere's story works wonders when, in its final moments, it explores the ways of American privilege and how it can be reversed and presented in a new, unforgettable way. The Good Lie skims the surface of the Sudanese refugees' hardships, but tells a good-natured, heartwarming story with compassion.

The Joe Show - Movie Review by Michael Clawson

The Joe Show  

Directed by Randy Murray

Rated NR

Run Time: 100 minutes

Genre: Documentary

Opens October 3rd

by Michael Clawson of Terminal Volume

The Joe Show begins with a moment so surreal, it’s simply hard to believe: Maricopa County Sheriff Joe Arpaio singing — quite badly — Frank Sinatra’s “My Way.” This is both a sad joke and an ironic truth about Arpaio’s iron grip on Arizona’s law enforcement.

Arpaio, who called himself “America’s toughest sheriff” so much that it actually came true, is the star of Randy Murray’s fascinatingly frank documentary about how Sheriff Joe, a name that has become shorthand for Arizona’s wacky politics, is the most hated/loved figure in the Southwest. His fans adore him, and his critics call him a cancerous void. He could care less what he is, as long as a news crew is there to film his reaction.

Murray’s film starts by pitching underhanded softballs right over the plate, and Arpaio clobbers them out of the park. Sheriff Joe does his Sinatra song, cooks pasta in his kitchen with his wife, and then as he shuffles around his downtown office, which has a locked closet lined with DVDs and VHS tapes of all his media appearances, which he hordes in his vault of drywall and fluorescent lighting. The beginning of the film is so non-threatening and mundane that it feels like more Arpaio fluff — part of the neverending Sheriff Joe PR machine. But then the knives come out, and The Joe Show eviscerates this bewildering Arizonan figure.

In an early scene, Arpaio parades prisoners around in pink underwear and handcuffs — Maricopa County’s fetish of choice — as way to drum up press for his new “tent city,” a canvas oasis where Arpaio sends low-level offenders for the benefit of the evening news and his own ego. Joe glows in front of the cameras as he bellows and bloviates to a group of time-robbed reporters and the bouquet of foamy microphones they’re offering as virgin sacrifice to that evening’s soundbite. And yes, that’s a handgun-shaped pin on his tie.

His humiliating treatment of prisoners provides a nice jumping-off point to many of his other political stunts: the foolhardy Obama birth certificate investigation, his harassment of the city of Guadalupe, bogus corruption charges against county officials, the arrest of New Times editors … the list never seems to end. Arpaio often speaks for himself, and is brutally honest about his intentions — there’s no such thing as bad press, except no press, or when someone spells Arpaio wrong. His gold-ol’-boy schtick is amended and tweaked by bobbleheaded PR juggernaut Lisa Allen, who seems like a lonely person. Without Joe will she just evaporate into oblivion?

In case it’s not clear, I’m not a fan of Sheriff Joe. I worked for a newspaper that was in his sights for many years. When we didn’t cover what he wanted, he retaliated by shutting the paper out of public events. Then press reports stopped coming. And then public records requests were ignored. Eventually the paper sued him, and won. He appealed, and we won that, too. For many years after, I would see Arpaio at media events and when he saw the logo on the press badge he would snarl and growl. Literally.

A lot of what Arpaio does is harmless cornball politics. Pink underwear and green bologna make for fun headlines, and for the most part the public just shrugs its shoulders. But The Joe Show doesn’t stop there. It pokes and prods deeper into the stuff that makes even Arpaio fans queasy: the violent deaths of inmates at his jails, including Scott Norberg, whose death was covered up amid disappearing evidence; racial profiling of basically anyone that wasn’t as pinkish white as Arpaio; his “culture of corruption,” from dopey henchmen like Paul Chagolla and Dave Hendershott all the way down to deputies and jail guards; and the failure to investigate more than 400 sex crimes. That last one should have lost him his last election, but even raped teens couldn’t stop the Arpaio media blitz.

The film features interviews from some of the most important figures in the Arpaio story — with lots of Arpaio himself and Allen, who does a wicked Jane Fonda impression — including one supporter who says she’s not a racist, but then says that “Mexicans haven’t evolved.” One of the interview highlights comes from interviewer Larry King, who states plainly, “Villains make good guests because they don’t think they’re villains.” The film presents both cases, pro-Arpaio and anti, but it’s hard not to question Arpaio’s police work when the film frames the sheriff as a media-hungry fame-monster who will do anything to be on TV. And that’s not necessarily a description he would disagree with. Although it skews against Arpaio, Joe Show will have its cheering section as its star casts himself as Arizona’s savior from Obama, Mexicans, criminals and “the media.”

Sheriff Joe will go down in Arizona history as an antiquated old fart who was tired of kids on his lawn and Mexicans in his grocery store, but his simplistic view of politics, government and police work will be his ultimate legacy. As much as Joe fancies himself a sheriff, a jailer and the county’s top cop, he’s little more than a movie star with a badge. And The Joe Show is his blockbuster.

The Joe Show - Movie Review by Eric Forthun

The Joe Show  

Directed by Randy Murray

Rated NR

Run Time: 100 minutes

Genre: Documentary

Opens October 3rd

By Eric Forthun of Cinematic Shadows

The Joe Show paints a glowingly American portrait of a self-made Arizona icon. Joe Arpaio is the most famous Sheriff in the country because he so uniquely crafts his own public image, whether that be through staged news stories or over-the-top, headline-worthy arrests. The man is divisive and split heavily across partisan lines, so it’s fitting that the conservative public figure (not politician, mind you, as Joe himself consistently points out) resides in a conservatively-minded place like Maricopa County, Arizona. He’s gained headlines over the years for countless, “shocking” actions, like forcing the inmates in Tent City to wear pink or creating the first (once again, self-proclaimed) female chain gang. Arpaio is a perfect example of a man that the media elevated to godly levels, so what more could a documentary on such a divine subject tell us?

Apparently a lot more, as Randy Murray’s documentary examines the inner workings and unavoidable corruption behind the sheriff and his county’s actions over the past twenty years while he’s been in power. Arpaio’s support over the years at the polls has slowly dwindled, but when he was in his prime he was a man with swagger and unrivaled conviction. Even his naysayers could not deny the confidence with which he has resided over the county, since he assumed a position that most other sheriffs would not take to heart as Arpaio did. He cracked down on drugs and fought for persecution of illegal immigrants, even if that meant violating certain rights under the jurisdiction of the law. One example showcases the county’s misuse of power in Mesa to scare a city leader that disagreed with Arpaio, while another centers on the war that escalated between his county and the Phoenix New Times.

That one in particular focuses on, what the film claims, the largest issued subpeona in American history, with millions of IP addresses being requested to further exemplify the county’s reach in power. Arpaio increasingly becomes belittled and persecuted as the documentary progresses, with the beginning setting up a calm before the attacking storm rains on Arpaio’s tent-filled parade. The film casts a light on his personal life and examines the titular man through a variety of lenses: as a family man, a politician, a media-hound, a lawbreaker, and a stick-to-his-guns leader. Arpaio has millions of supporters around the nation, ranging from a woman in Arizona who does the classic “I’m not a racist, but…[insert racist opinion]” to gun-toting Ted Nugent. For every person that seems to defend him, another chimes in to comment on his relentlessly aggressive police force that abuses power and commits racist actions.

The Joe Show grows into an indictment of the Arizona sheriff and should satisfy opponents of the man while leaving supporters a bit cold. The attempt at examining Arpaio through many lenses creates an uneven, far-reaching portrait of a highly complex man, one with a rich personal history and a fascinating political narrative. I fall on the side that doesn’t support Arpaio, mostly for the reasons that are emphasized in the film’s second half. The recklessness and abandonment of civil rights in multiple cases by the county sheriff’s office leads to a bad taste in many voters’ mouths. But Joe Arpaio is the man, the myth, and the legend: his image is on every television screen every week because he wants to communicate as emphatically as possible that he is the World’s Toughest Sheriff. Randy Murray’s documentary is invasive, biting, and ambitious, even if that amounts to an uneven but entertaining character study.