I had just come out of a screening of La La Land (full review coming January 2) when I got the news that
Carrie Fisher had passed away at the age of 60. It was like a kick in the guts,
which unclenched when I realized it was the headline we’d been dreading for
days after reading she had taken ill.
There was never any doubt in my mind that we’d see her at
press junkets and red carpet events for the as-yet-untitled Episode VIII, laughing about what had
happened with some wry morsel of self-deprecation and bracing honesty.
Moreover, she’d be back because we needed her to be, because Star Wars seems unfathomable without our
Princess Leia; lest we forget, she’s on screen a full twenty minutes before the
ostensible hero Luke Skywalker. And honestly, after seeing the heist of the
Death Star plans in Rogue One, it’s a
little impossible to watch the original Star
Wars without thinking of Leia as the heir to Jyn Erso’s mantle; who’s the
real “new hope” here, the whiny farmboy whose chores stand in the way of his
power couplings, or the regal politician turned rebel icon who stares down
Darth Vader and lies to his face without breaking a sweat?
In a way, La La Land
was a fitting bracer for the latest bit of bad news to come out of 2016. It’s a
film that’s very concerned with memory, particularly visual/cinematic memory, and
the ways that our filmic minds may be more powerful than reality, more
romantically potent, even above and against the objective truth of reality. For
most of us, all we have left of Carrie Fisher are her images, and as much of a
force (no pun intended) as she was in Hollywood, I suspect that for very many
of us she’ll always be Princess – or General – Leia. We might remember her as
the M16-toting fiancé of Jake Blues in The
Blues Brothers, the flower-child group therapist from Austin Powers, or as her own larger-than-life self as seen in Wishful Drinking.
However, even Carrie Fisher embraced the role that some said
typecast her for life. “I got to be the only girl in an all-boy fantasy, and
it’s a great role for women,” she told CBC in September. "She’s a very proactive
character and gets the job done. So if you’re going to get typecast as
something, that might as well be it for me.” To that end, with our filmic
memories waxing nostalgic, we present five definitive Princess Leia moments.
You might be expecting a Top 10 (and perhaps someday you’ll see it), but for
now the occasion demands something special, a little bit unique. So put on the
John Williams score and let’s remember the Princess as best we know how.
1. “Only you could be
so bold.”
I mentioned this moment at the top because it’s a hell of an
introduction to Leia, and it tells us everything we need to know about the
character. She’s fiercely loyal to her people (both those of Alderaan and those
of the Rebel Alliance), and she’s far from cowed by the looming presence of
Darth Vader, the scariest force of evil in the galaxy. But Leia, coded as
vulnerable by her height and her all-white gown, refuses to bow; instead, she
rips off one-liners of her own, later jeering at Grand Moff Tarkin’s “foul
stench,” and she refuses to break, even under literal torture.
2. “This is some
rescue!”
The second act of Star
Wars revolves around the effort to rescue Leia from the bowels of the Death
Star, but it’s a beautiful treat that the rescue mission completely falls apart
until Leia takes charge. Luke, Han, and Chewbacca storm the prison block, but
it all goes awry, to which Leia’s reaction is the sly and often-quoted “Aren’t
you a little short for a stormtrooper?”
She’s facing execution – Tarkin has said as much – but she refuses to be so
much as impressed. Then, as the prison break collapses into a firefight, it’s
Leia who rescues the rescue, sending them into the garbage chute and toward the
Millennium Falcon.
3. “I love you.” “I
know.”
Leia spends much of The
Empire Strikes Back on the run, but she’s always in control of the
situation. She rightly assesses the moment to evacuate, she senses something is
wrong about the asteroid “cave” in which they land, and she detects Lando’s
misdeeds before Han has reason to doubt his old friend. But the one thing Leia
misses is her own emotional range; throughout the movie, she’s telling Han Solo
one thing while the audience realizes something else altogether – these two crazy
kids are in love. Finally, just before it’s too late, she opens up, and while
Han gets the iconic rebuttal, Leia flips the script in Return of the Jedi. This time, she’s caught up. She knows.
4. Huttslayer.
I suspect a generation or two of Star Wars fans remember this moment for a different reason
altogether. Carrie Fisher probably sent scores of moviegoers into puberty by
donning the metal bikini, but a princess has to have an extensive wardrobe,
right? What’s fascinating to me here is that it’s another way Leia flips the
script. She steadfastly refuses to be a damsel in distress – recall that it’s
all part of the plan – and her looks of disgust and occasional boredom prevent
her from serving as eye candy. As ever, Carrie Fisher had the perfect response
to the outfit: “Tell them that a giant slug captured me and forced me to wear
that stupid outfit, and then I killed him because I didn’t like it. And then I
took it off. Backstage.” The Expanded Universe materials have made much of
Leia’s reputation as “the Huttslayer” – apparently, it’s a big deal to strangle
a reptilian crime slug with the leash with which he would subjugate you. Now
that’s a royally badass moment.
5. “Same jacket.”
The original script for The
Force Awakens called for us to see General Leia fairly early on and
throughout the first act of the film. Wisely, though, J.J. Abrams kept her in
reserve until we can see her through Han’s eyes for the first time. And boy,
does it pack a wallop when she arrives; it’s a moment that always leaves me a
little misty-eyed, but as ever Leia deflates the moment by skeptically
remarking of Han’s attire, “Same jacket.” Thirty years may have passed, but
she’s still the same Leia we left in 1983. The fact that she’s been promoted to
general tells us only that the rest of the galaxy has finally caught up with
her.
For now, she’s one with the Force, and the Force is with us.
We’ll see her again in Episode VIII
next December, and the Expanded Universe guarantees Princess Leia will never be
too far away; she’s already appeared on Rebels,
and she’s the star of the monthly Marvel comic Star Wars (to say nothing of her own miniseries, penned by Mark
Waid). What’s your favorite Princess Leia moment? Sound off below.
When I saw the trailer for Fences, I immediately thought three things – “I’ve got to read that
play,” “I’ve got to see that movie,” and “Denzel ought to win an Oscar just for
the trailer alone.” Now that I’ve seen Fences
in its entirety, all three were – if I may say so – sage proclamations: August
Wilson reminds us why he’s a compelling playwright, the film is worth the price of admission, and
it’s going to be a tight race this year as Denzel Washington gives Andrew Garfield a run for his money.
Pulling directorial and performing duty, Denzel Washington
stars as Troy Maxson, a Pittsburgh trash collector who missed his shot as a
professional baseball player and who fills his Friday afternoons with gab, both
self-effacing and self-aware. From the kitchen window overlooking their
backyard, Troy’s wife Rose (Viola Davis) watches her larger-than-life husband
and tries to make room for herself in the life they have built together.
I have a very short list of actors and directors who are
guaranteed winners, always worth the price of admission even if the rest of the
film isn’t very good. But Fencesis
very good, and it’s due almost universally to the powerful lead performances
from Washington and Davis. I wouldn’t be surprised or disappointed to see both
up for their fair share of awards come Oscar season, and if they take home the
trophies, so much the better. It comes as no surprise that Denzel Washington is
the very picture of commanding; he’s one of a select few actors who can swing
the pendulum from exuberantly gregarious to crushingly emotional without
feeling anything but natural, and Troy Maxson is a perfect vehicle for Denzel
to show us what he can do. Prone to long monologues, Troy is the consummate
stage lead, and a less capable performer could have easily mishandled the
complexities with which his character forces us to wrestle. Instead, Denzel is
a master craftsman, and his discreet directorial style reminds one of a filmed
stage play.
On the subject of the filmed stage play, this is Denzel’s
third directorial outing (following Antwone
Fisher and The Great Debaters),
and here’s the thing – it’s not all that cinematic. If you’re looking for a
Denzel movie with visual flair, you might be better suited to something like John Q or American Gangster. It’s a slightly unusual moviegoing experience,
watching something that feels very much like a Broadway drama on film, though
it’s not unprecedented. For example, I’m a huge fan of the twin productions of Hamlet starring David Tennant and
Benedict Cumberbatch, which currently only exist for a wide audience in a
filmed-stage-play edition. For an audience primed for that – and for an
audience who can’t go see the real thing in person (Denzel’s Fences was staged in 2010, while the Hamlets were overseas), it’s the next
best thing. And if the only casualty of a filmed Denzel stage play is that it’s
a little uncinematic, it’s a sacrifice I’m content to make, because the
performances and the characters are so large and powerful that it escapes
notice after a few minutes.
About halfway through the film, Rose tells Troy, “I’ve been
standing here with you!” reminding him – and us – that this is her life, too,
and in the same way Davis pivots the screen’s attention to her. In a film where
Denzel Washington is playing such an unreserved character like Troy Maxson, it
might be easy to fade into the backdrop, but Davis holds her own and gives a
formidable performance, exuding emotion with a fierce glance of the eye or a
despairing runny nose. So much of her performance is predicated on silences and
pauses, and Davis (who was, in a word, definitive earlier this year in Suicide Squad) very nearly steals the
show as the film pivots into its second half with a game-changing revelation
about their marriage.
Theatrical in the stage sense of the word, Fences is nevertheless a must-see as
2016 wraps itself up and bends again toward award season. Featuring two lead
performances from thespians at the pinnacle of their craft, and with an
unexpected range of emotions on display, Fences
is a tour de force that does every bit of justice imaginable to the August
Wilson playtext.
Fences is rated
PG-13 for “thematic elements, language and some suggestive references.”
Directed by Denzel Washington. Screenplay by August Wilson from his stage play.
Starring Denzel Washington, Viola Davis, Stephen Henderson, Jovan Adepo,
Russell Hornsby, Mykelti Williamson, and Saniyya Sidney.
That’s going to bring a close to 2016, folks. Over the past twelve months, The Cinema King has brought you 40 movie reviews (with eight installments
of “Monday at the Movies,” a series that began in 2012), seven Top 10 lists, one
Grand Marvel Rewatch (with a baker's dozen installments), and one Personal Canon (consisting
of 65 essential films). What does the future hold? 2017 will see the same great
content coming your way, as well as a number of exciting new features. Starting
in 2017, you’ll see one of the greatest television shows of all time recapped
and reviewed, episode by episode, week by week. You’ll also see the debut of “Ten
at a Time,” a series which treads methodically through particularly dense films
ten minutes at a time; at that rate, the first such feature should take about
four months to get through. You’ll see a number of other surprises coming your
way, but we don’t want to pull back the curtain all at once... If you haven’t
subscribed, make sure to put your email in the box at the top of the page to
guarantee your weekly dose of movie magic. See you next year!
It’s Disney’s galaxy, folks; we just live in it. But as I’ve
said over and over, now is the best time to be alive. We’ve got comic book
superheroes on film and television, engaging as ever, and we’ve got a new Star Wars film coming out every year.
And if they continue to be as good as Rogue
One is, that’s reason enough to hold onto the planet for another rotation
around the sun.
As the Empire nears completion of its mammoth Death Star
weapon just before the events of the original Star Wars film, a band of Rebels led by Cassian Andor (Diego Luna)
and his droid co-pilot K-2SO (voiced by Alan Tudyk) seeks out Jyn Erso
(Felicity Jones), the daughter of the weapon’s chief engineer. While the Death
Star’s military director Orson Krennic (Ben Mendelsohn) grapples for power by
proving the strength of his facility, Jyn bristles at the notion of joining the
Rebellion but finds herself drawn into the struggle as she searches for her
father.
If you’ve been around this long, you know I’m something of a
shill when it comes to the genres I love. It’s not that these movies can do no
wrong – I took Suicide Squad to task
for biting off more than it could chew and for being “more than a little
strangely crafted” – but maybe I’m a little more forgiving just because these
are “my” genres, movies that feel made for me. But Rogue One is, I think, a great Star
Wars movie that does everything a Star
Wars movie ought to do. Since buying Lucasfilm lock, stock, and
Greedo-shot-first barrel, Disney has been quite enamored of the Original Trilogy
era, setting its television shows, comic books, novels, and now spin-off films
in that period. But they’ve been equally keen on butting up against our sense
of what Star Wars can be – that is,
led by someone who isn’t a whiny blond dude, with next-to-no lightsaber combat.
Rogue One is both
of those things, and more, depicting the run-up to A New Hope in a way that will forever color the way we look at the
original film (answering in the process a question fans have had for about
forty years in the process). But it does so in a way that deepens our
understanding of the Star Wars mythos
– at least, the post-Disney purge canon. Rogue
One unites disparate elements from the Prequels, the Original Trilogy, Clone Wars and Rebels, from tie-in books like James Luceno’s Catalyst to what I’m pretty sure are a few weapons from the Lego Star Wars video games. We even,
finally, get references to the mysterious Whills, referenced in early drafts of
the screenplay and novelization to Star
Wars. All of this, thankfully, is never beholden to an audience’s
preexisting knowledge, serving instead like bonus frequencies on the
electromagnetic spectrum for those of us who have eyes trained to see them.
Because at its core, Rogue
One is a film about a girl, her father, and the galaxy that finds itself
depending quite unexpectedly on them. If you always thought the galaxy revolved
around the Skywalkers, Rogue One asks
you to look again; there’s only one Skywalker here, but as I predicted last week he’s treated like an ominous specter at the periphery of this story, the
armor-plated embodiment of fury waiting for an excuse to unleash his hate. By
and large, though, Rogue One is more
interested in its scrappy band of Rebels, new characters all, some of whom are
bound to become new fan favorites. K-2SO’s deadpan cynicism recalls a kind of
killer Baymax, while the warrior duo of Chirrut Îmwe (Donnie Yen, my personal
fave) and Baze Malbus (Jiang Wen) shed light on the Force from the vantage
point of someone who isn’t a Jedi.
Amid all the fresh new characters who I’d gladly follow into
spin-offs of their own, though, Rogue One
is thoroughly Felicity Jones’s show. Although some have drawn superficial lines
between Jyn Erso and Daisy Ridley’s Rey, Jones does a fabulous job
differentiating her character from the one found in The Force Awakens. There’s an unexpected emotional depth to Jyn, which
Jones lets us see Jyn has repressed for so very long. She lets it burble over
every so often, to great effect, and we never have a hard time believing that
the tough persona she puts on in front of the other Rebels is just a defensive
mechanism.
On the subject of the film’s villains, I will say that my
first impression of Orson Krennic is that he’s a little undercooked. I have the
disadvantage of having read the prequel novel before the film, so I know him a
little better than most filmgoers, but his motivations and rank in the Empire
might have been made clearer. Mendelsohn does a good job turning Krennic into a
snarling power-hungry Imperial middleman, but as it is, Krennic takes a
backseat to the Empire at large. Here the Empire is a giant and well-oiled
machine, whose hold over the galaxy is more intimidating than any one figure
could be. Then again, how daunting can an Imperial be in a film with Darth
Vader? As the trailers have hinted, Krennic has a very memorable scene with
Vader which puts Krennic in perspective relative to the Imperial machine he
serves. Still, there’s a more personal story to be told, considering Krennic’s
long history with the Erso family.
It wouldn’t be a Cinema King review without a wild
comparison or two, and so I offer that Rogue
One is very much akin to Captain America: The First Avenger. We knew where both films would end up – Darth
Vader tells us as much in Star Wars,
while we knew Cap was going to end up on ice, only to be thawed out in time for
The Avengers. But just because the
ending is a foregone conclusion, an accidental spoiler forty years in the
making, that doesn’t mean we can’t have fun along the way, in a movie that
feels more heartfelt than you might expect, given that at least a few of our
heroes might have a tragic fate bearing down on them. There’s room for a few
surprises along the way, but more importantly Rogue One clicks up with Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice in its personification of the quintessentially
human emotion of hope. Both films, even as things look quite grim, find room
for optimism, for persistence in the face of adversity because “men are still
good” and “rebellions are built on hope.” It’s always darkest before the dawn,
we recall from an earlier Batman film, but the dawn – or in this case, the new
hope – is coming.
And for moviegoers, it isn’t all that essential to hope that
the Star Wars franchise continues to
thrive under the gloved thumb of the Mouse. Mickey’s two-for-two. The Force is
truly with us.
Rogue One: A Star Wars
Story is rated PG-13 for extended sequences of sci-fi violence and action.
Directed by Gareth Edwards. Written by Chris Weitz & Tony Gilroy and John
Knoll & Gary Whitta. Starring Felicity Jones, Diego Luna, Ben Mendelsohn,
Alan Tudyk, Donnie Yen, Wen Jiang, Forest Whitaker, Riz Ahmed, Mads Mikkelsen,
and James Earl Jones.
2016 has been a pretty good year so far for us moviegoers,
and it’s about to go out with a bang. We still have a few flicks that yours
truly is looking forward to seeing: Martin Scorsese’s long-awaited Silence, classic Hollywood romance La La Land, Passengers, Assassins Creed,
and Denzel Washington’s adaptation of Fences.
But Disney has seen to it that we won’t get to the end of
the calendar year without talking about Star
Wars. This Friday sees the release of Rogue
One: A Star Wars Story, a mid-pre-sequel situated some time after Revenge of the Sith but just before A New Hope, in which the construction of
the Death Star nears completion as a band of Rebels seek to steal the plans and
look for a vulnerability.
Episode VIII, it’s
not, but as much as I’m dying to return to that hilltop to see what Rey and
Luke will say to each other, there’s plenty about which to be excited for Rogue One. And so, in the tradition of
last year’s post to a similar point, here’s my “Top 10 Things I’m Looking
Forward to in Rogue One.”
10. Politics in a
galaxy far, far away. As much as we’re all wearied by the proceedings of
Election 2016 and any number of high-stakes electoral proceedings this year,
Lucasfilm’s Creative Executive Pablo Hidalgo pointed to the above scene aboard
the Death Star in A New Hope as key
to Rogue One. As rich as the clip is
in terms of Star Wars lore, one major plot point is that the Emperor has only
just gotten around to disbanding the Senate, meaning it’s open season in Rogue One. Will this film’s events be
the ones that push Palpatine to finally erase the last pretenses of democracy
in his Empire?
9. And speaking of
politicians... You won’t see Donald and Hillary in Rogue One (thank the maker), but you’ll see a few familiar faces
from the Prequel Trilogy – Bail Organa (Jimmy Smits) and Mon Mothma (Genevieve
O’Reilly). The Force Awakens largely
steered clear of the still-radioactive prequels, but Rogue One seems to be embracing the parts that worked, namely the
good casting in Revenge of the Sith. And
with Bail Organa in tow, can a certain cinnamon-bunned princess or her prissy
goldenrod protocol droid be far behind...?
8. Ground combat.The Force Awakens delivered on its
aerial dogfights (and how) with hotshot pilot Poe Dameron leading Resistance
forces, but we haven’t really seen sustained fighting on the ground in the Star
Wars universe since The Empire Strikes Back – and we all remember how well that worked out for the Rebels. (And
no, the Ewok ambushes don’t quite count.) With Rogue One said to inhabit a kind of WWII vibe, seeing ground
assault troops and the AT-ATs glimpsed in the movie’s trailers, this could get
ugly in a very beautiful kind of way.
7. Snarky droid. K-2SO
looks to be a mean and sassy droid, comfortable with deadpan assertions of impending
doom and honest appraisals of nihilistic futility. He’s voiced by Alan Tudyk,
who (if you only know him as Wash from Firefly)
has quietly become one of Disney’s premier voiceover artists with memorable
turns in Wreck-it Ralph, Frozen, Zootopia, and even as the demented chicken Heihei in Moana. If all goes well, Tudyk could
turn K-2SO into a wry reflection of C-3PO.
6. Inside baseball. Even
though Rogue One is something of a
standalone film, it’s almost a guarantee that the filmmakers will draw connections
both forward and back. There’s the return of the Prequel faces (see #9) and at
least one major character from the Original Trilogy (read on...), but with
storytelling being a unified venture at Lucasfilm across film, television, and
publishing, I wonder what other familiar faces we might see. Does the
appearance of Saw Gerrera from The Clone
Wars suggest we’ll touch base with something from Star Wars Rebels, which is set in roughly the same time period and
also deals indirectly with the construction of the Death Star? Will we
foreshadow some famous faces, the longest shot being Alden Ehrenreich’s young Han
Solo? Or will Rogue One stake out its
own territory, leaving these toys in the box for appearances in future comics,
novels, and films?
5. Director Krennic. Now,
I haven’t finished reading the prequel novel Catalyst just yet, but from what I’ve read Orson Krennic (Ben
Mendelsohn) is going to be a compelling new kind of Imperial. Less a believer
in the Emperor’s endgame and more a relentless opportunist with a disdain for
his fellow Imperials, Krennic promises to be vastly different from the cold and
calculating Tarkin (who’s rumored to appear, as well). How precisely he fits in
– or doesn’t – with Imperial hierarchy ought to be fascinating stuff. And let’s
face it, this is a guy who looks ready-made to be Force-choked for his failures.
(Remember, he’s not at the table in A New
Hope.)
4. I have a bad
feeling about this... With the persistent refrain that this film ends about
ten minutes before A New Hope, we
can’t help but wonder how many of these characters are going to make it out
alive. It’s a big galaxy, and there’s plenty of room for them to hide out to
explain their absence in the Original Trilogy, but I can’t believe that the
Imperials make it all the way to the Tantive
IV without making sure that the plans could only be in Leia’s hands: all of
which doesn’t bode well for our scrappy band of rebels.
3. One “Rogue” in
particular. We’re getting a real motley crew for Rogue One, but the standout role looks to be that of protagonist
Jyn Erso. She’s going to be a different breed of Star Wars heroine, more
cynical a Rebel than Princess Leia, tougher than Rey, and with more family
baggage than Padmé Amidala. Plus we have an Oscar nominee in Felicity Jones, so
the character is in good hands, ready for a journey of galactic proportions.
2. Michael
Giacchino’s score.The Clone Wars
and The Holiday Special don’t count –
this is the first Star Wars film not
scored by the maestro himself, John Williams. But Michael Giacchino is just
about the best possible successor I could imagine; his work relies on motifs
and melodies in a very Star Wars-ian way, and he’s already followed in
Williams’s footsteps on Jurassic World.
Giacchino has proven himself versatile and gifted, and while I’m excited any
time I see Giacchino’s name on a score, Rogue
One compounds my interest. How much will he borrow from Williams’s operatic
book of themes, and how much will he innovate? Will we see his trademark puns
on the soundtrack titles?
1. Hcho-peh...
hcho-peh... hcho-peh. You might not recognize it when I type it out, but
you’ll know it when you hear it – Rogue
One is bringing back the heavy-breathing, black-clad Dark Lord of the Sith
himself, Darth Vader. While it remains to be seen whether he’ll be seeking the
Rebel base, hunting down the stolen Death Star plans, or both, the original Man
in Black is back. Here’s hoping director Gareth Edwards treats Vader like he
depicted Godzilla – sparingly, obliquely, and terrifyingly powerful.
How about it, folks? What are you most excited to see in Rogue One? We’ll see you back here next
week for a look at Rogue One. Until
then, may the Force be with you.
While Disney is remaking and reinscribing their classic
animated fare with varying degrees of success (from Maleficent to The Jungle Book,
the results have been a mixed bag), they’re simultaneously churning out what
can best be described as revisionist fairy tales in which Disney can be seen to
rewrite its gender politics vis-à-vis the “happily-ever-after through true
love” narrative. (Zootopia might even
fit in here, though from here Big Hero 6
seems to fit better with the Marvel movies.) Moana certainly fits in the latter camp beside Tangled and Frozen, and
while I wasn’t as bowled over by Moana
as I was by Frozen, Moana is still a fine offering.
Fueled by a longing to take to the seas, young Moana
(newcomer Aul’i Cravalho) bristles against her father’s insistence that she
stick to her island roots and prepare to lead her people as their chief. But
with the gentle encouragement of her grandmother, Moana discovers another
destiny, one that leads her to the exiled demigod Maui (Dwayne “The Rock”
Johnson) and his own begrudging quest for restitution.
Your mileage, as ever, may vary, but perhaps because the bar
has been set so high of late by Disney, Moana
did not knock me out. Last month I returned from a few days in Walt Disney
World, so maybe it’s the fact that I’d very recently mainlined the magic of the
mouse, or perhaps it was the burden of expectation (always a dangerous thing to
carry into a movie theater) based on precedent and extant reviews. Heck, maybe
I’d been jaded by the dispiriting array of trailers on tap before Moana. Or maybe it’s just that Moana is good but not great. Maybe, in
the words of Captain McCluskey, “I’m getting too old for my job... too
grouchy.”
I did like it, but the superlatives aren’t there for me to
purge like so much ipecac. I enjoyed the soundtrack in the moment, though I
didn’t leave the theater humming any of the tunes; I laughed at the jokes, but
I can’t say that I could repeat any of them for you. What did impress me mostly
began with the letter C – Cravalho, coconuts, the chicken, and a crustacean.
And the tattoos.
Time will tell whether Cravalho becomes a major star or not
(remember, the voice of Mulan now has
a regular spot on Marvel’s Agents of
SHIELD), but she acquits herself well in her debut feature in a part that
feels written to play to her strengths – her determination, her singing
prowess, and her ability to keep pace with the more seasoned voices in the cast.
While I never fully dissociated Maui from the man I knew to be voicing him,
Cravalho inhabits Moana with aplomb and breathes life into her.
The plot of the film can be loosely described as a
Polynesian Odyssey, with a series of
episodic adventures along a sea voyage on a mission from the gods. In these
adventures, we meet a seafaring band of pirate coconuts (or is that coconut
pirates?) who are equal parts adorable and terrifying, a fine feat of visual
design and wordless storytelling. Then there’s the mad chicken Heihei (voiced,
surprisingly, by the dulcet clucks of Alan Tudyk), who almost steals the show
with his dimwitted struts and well-timed mishaps. Rounding out a kind of
trinity of fascinating creatures (or, put another way, “fantastic beasts”), we
have Jemaine Clement as the klepto crab Tamatoa, who gets a fun musical number
in which to express his offbeat sensibility while serving as a kind of Joseph
Campbell’s gatekeeper for a literal sword-in-the-stone moment.
Lastly, if I wasn’t knocked out by Maui himself, his tattoos
are quite impressive, hand-animated amid the computer cartoonery that is the
film’s milieu. Indeed, it’s little surprise that the film’s directors have had
a hand in many of Disney’s last twenty years of animated films, especially
because Maui’s tattoos recall the Grecian aesthetics of Hercules back in 1997, a film I remember fondly. These
semi-sentient tattoos continue the coconuts’ good work of silent storytelling,
drawing on the bulging biceps and swirling linework of Hercules to great effect. Maui seems irritated by their rebellious
approach to his own self-mythmaking, but it’s an audience delight to see a hole
poked in the demigod’s bluster
I have nothing bad to say about Moana, except to say that I have nothing tremendous to say about Moana, which feels a bit like the movie
review equivalent of a “first world problem.” Moana is the very model of reliable entertainment, steady on course
for Disney, even if the effect is more that of a pleasant dream – left with a
good feeling but without the lasting memory that would accompany something a
little more substantive.
Moana is rated PG
for “peril, some scary images and brief thematic elements.” Directed by Ron
Clements and John Musker. Written by Jared Bush, Ron Clements, John Musker,
Chris Williams, Don Hall, Pamela Ribon, and Aaron & Jordan Kandell. Songs
by Lin-Manuel Miranda and Opetaia Foa’i. Starring Auli’i Cravalho and Dwayne
Johnson.
Bonus review! Moana
is preceded by the short film “Inner Workings,” which is very much the
half-remembered dream equivalent of the immaculate Inside Out. Here, a man’s internal organs react to the drudgery of
office work, the temptations of the beach, and the overwhelming urge to
micturate. It’s clever but ephemeral, perhaps hampered by the protagonist’s
uncanny resemblance to Carl Fredrickson from Up, and it never arrives at the depth of concept or feeling that Inside Out did. But it’s cute and doesn’t
overstay its welcome.
You may have noticed that I have this tendency to compare
compelling science fiction to Inception.
In fact, in the case of Big Hero 6,
Looper, and Transcendence, I
usually draw a straight line back to 2010. This inclination, I admit, is
somewhere between hagiography and tracking cultural influence, for few will
deny that I am a disciple of Christopher Nolan and that the post-2010
science-fiction line-up does have a lot in common with Inception.
However, I’m not going to say that Arrival has much to do with Inception.
(Nor am I going to spoil anything, promise.) Instead, I’m going to draw the
connective tissue a little closer to the present, toward Nolan’s most recent
film. Arrival is essentially a moody,
Kubrickian Interstellar, without much
in common with Inception beyond the
same pleasant mental gymnastics as we follow along with the film’s very smart
plot.
Amy Adams stars as Dr. Louise Banks, a linguistic professor
whose loose affiliation with the United States government puts her at the top
of the list when twelve alien spacecraft arrive on earth. Drafted to help
translate an alien language in order to understand the spacecrafts’ purpose on
our planet, Dr. Banks works with a theoretical physicist (Jeremy Renner) and a
wary colonel (Forest Whitaker) to piece together the mystery of the arrival.
Not just because both films utilize Max Richter’s “On the Nature of Daylight” to great effect (and affect), there are parts of Arrival that feel very much like Martin
Scorsese’s underrated Shutter Island
(perhaps not coincidentally, also 2010, a real important year for me as a
filmgoer). Somewhere between Arrival’s
fog-bound aesthetic and its depiction of resilient optimism in the face of a
crumbling world, a belief that ultimately things will make sense if we study
them hard enough, I was reminded of Shutter
Island and its similarly determined worldview. In both films, we have a
“detective” of sorts, whose dogged pursuit of a graspable truth – in whose
existence very few of the other characters actually believe – plays out amid
dreary weather and mournful violin solos which suggest the intangibility of
truth and the inherent sorrow therein. However, in Arrival as in Shutter Island,
the truth is out there, if only we had eyes to see it.
In Arrival, those
eyes belong to Louise Banks, and thank heavens we have Amy Adams to play the
part. In a just world, Adams would be in the running for Best Actress, because
her portrayal of the linguist is stunning and powerful, conveying much with a
frown or a furrowed brow, and her earnest desire to understand the aliens is
something that comes through even as we see just how scared she is of the
possibilities presented by life beyond our little blue world. We have all these
other dudes in the film – and yes, Adams is pretty much the only woman in the
film, which can’t be accidental – but they take a backseat to Adams’s
performance.
For as small and intimate as the film’s focus is on Louise
Banks, the film has a simultaneous grandeur to it that recalls Stanley
Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey
(1968). The twelve alien ships, several stories high and hovering above the
ground, recall Kubrick’s black monolith, suggesting perhaps shared common
ground in both films’ treatment of mankind’s future and our place among the
stars. There are moments in Arrival
that feel a bit as though Stanley Kubrick is directing an adaptation of Wuthering Heights in which Heathcliff is
an immense being at which we can only marvel, slack-jawed, while we attempt to
comprehend. But where Brontë left Heathcliff somewhat inscrutable, where
Kubrick might have left him to the dimension of the metaphorical, Arrival takes the occasion of immensity
as a moment of contemplation. Louise begins in fear of the aliens, but track
her evolution throughout the film.
Arrival isn’t a
puzzle box like Inception, where we
have to struggle mightily to keep up. Rather, it’s more akin to the scientific
affect of Interstellar, in which
mystery elements fit together thematically, not solely by virtue of their
ability to clear up the plot. Rather than comprehend,
we understand; we feel it. Arrival has a depth to it, a sense of truth and a very valuable
point about geopolitics and the need for a utopian perspective. Louise Banks
has that utopian vision, that belief that her work has purpose, direction, and
possibility, where others see only futility and predetermination. It’s to the
film’s credit that it convinces us to see things her way, and in a brilliant
third-act reveal, teaches us how to do it, too.
Director Denis Villenueve – we at The Cinema King remember
him fondly from Prisoners – is slated
to direct the forthcoming Blade Runner 2049,
and while I’ve never thought that film needed a sequel, seeing Villenueve at
the helm of a compelling and grand science fiction film has me rethinking my
tune.
Arrival is rated PG-13
for “brief strong language.” Directed by Denis Villenueve. Written by Eric
Heisserer. Based on the short story “Story of Your Life” by Ted Chiang.
Starring Amy Adams, Jeremy Renner, Forest Whitaker, Michael Stuhlbarg, and Tzi
Ma.
I’m not sure how much cache a ten-minute standing ovation at
the Venice Film Festival has to the world at large, but to me it says that a
film is worth a look. And while a ten-minute standing ovation is difficult to
fathom for most anything (I put more stock in rewatches and DVD sales), Hacksaw Ridge is a compelling war film
that seems primed for a place of prominence when the Oscar calendar closes in a
few weeks.
Andrew Garfield stars in the true story of Desmond Doss, a
conscientious objector who nevertheless enlists in World War II as a combat
medic, refusing to carry a rifle and earning the ire of his commanding officers
(Vince Vaughn and Sam Worthington). Throughout, Doss refuses to compromise his
values, even amid the challenges of his Great War veteran father (Hugo Weaving)
and new bride (Teresa Palmer).
What surprised me most about Hacksaw Ridge was the way that director Mel Gibson unites two very
disparate tones in a way that’s surprisingly compelling and which makes the
second half all the more effective. The film begins feelings very much at home
in the 1940s, reminiscent of something like Sergeant
York or The Best Years of Our Lives,
with a very simple romantic plot arc that’s almost syrupy sweet. This nearly
naïve worldview is thrown into stark contrast to the horrific fog of war in the
film’s second half, in which Doss’s wide-eyed beliefs are tested in the most
intense crucible imaginable. That the film doesn’t feel like two disparate
halves is perhaps Gibson’s greatest achievement here.
When it comes to directing combat footage, Gibson’s no
slouch, either. In this respect, the film has been compared to Saving Private Ryan (which, full
confession, I still haven’t seen), and there’s a certain brutality to the war
scenes that succeeds all the more because of the false sense of security into
which the film’s first half lulls us. But even taken in isolation, Hacksaw Ridge has a grisly intensity in
its war sequences that is both disconcerting for its gore and frightening in
the number of jump moments Gibson manages to navigate. We truly feel, as Doss
must have, that we are out of our element.
Garfield’s earnest portrayal of the peaceable country boy
goes a long way toward selling the central conceit of the film, and I have to
wonder if we’ll be looking at a Best Actor contender when the next Academy
Awards roll around. (I also wonder if Gibson’s cactus-hugging days are behind
him and if he’ll be up for Best Director, as well.) Garfield plays Doss as a
man of conviction, a man for whom his decisions don’t come easily. When his
father chastises him for wrestling with his conscience, it’s not a revelation
for the character; we’ve already seen these conflicts play out on Garfield’s
face and in the quaver of his voice. Even if he’ll always be a Spider-Man to
me, Garfield proves himself capable of a range wider than my typecasting gives
him credit.
It’s really a Gibson/Garfield show through and through, although
the film wisely cedes the floor to the real Desmond Doss just before the credits
roll, letting us see the real soldier on his own terms and revealing that the film
doesn’t exaggerate much about his humility and his religious devotion. It’s
these real-life clips which confirm the truth of the story that the film tells
us, and in so doing it solidifies my belief that Hacksaw Ridge is one of the most powerful war films in recent
memory. Uncompromising in both its wartime gore and its dedication to the true
story of a remarkable hero, Hacksaw Ridge
is a strong contender for early award buzz, and it’s entirely well-deserved.
Hacksaw Ridge is
rated R for “intense prolonged realistically graphic sequences of war violence
including grisly bloody images.” Directed by Mel Gibson. Written by Robert
Schenkkan and Andrew Knight. Based on a true story. Starring Andrew Garfield,
Vince Vaughn, Sam Worthington, Teresa Palmer, and Hugo Weaving.
Blend Iron Man
with Guardians of the Galaxy, stir in
a liberal portion of Inception, and
season lightly with Grey’s Anatomy,
then bake for two hours in the classic Marvel Cinematic Universe formula, and
you can imagine something pretty close to Doctor
Strange, Marvel’s fourteenth and latest film which introduces magic and
interdimensionality into the narrative tapestry of the MCU. While some have
used the word “formula” derisively, Doctor
Strange is an excellent example of why we don’t fix that which is not
broken.
Benedict Cumberbatch joins the MCU world as Stephen Strange,
an arrogant and narcissistic surgeon whose fate changes after a grisly car
accident ends his medical practice by shattering his hands. In search of
answers, Strange travels to Kamar-Taj, where he learns from The Ancient One
(Tilda Swinton) and her pupil Mordo (Chiwetel Ejiofor) the magic of the mystic
arts. As rogue sorcerer Kaecilius (Mads Mikkelsen) breaches the boundaries of
reality to invite discord, Strange must choose between his old life and the new
responsibilities he learns in Kamar-Taj.
Director Scott Derrickson has to introduce a lot of new
things to Marvel with Doctor Strange,
and he does a deft job of taking the universe into a new direction. While some
of the magical aspects of the film resonate with Thor: The Dark World’s convergences and Ant-Man’s microverse, Doctor
Strange is the most overtly mystical Marvel film to date, but a thrilling
opener in the Mirror Dimension convinces the audience that this is all of a
piece with what’s come before. Derrickson certainly owes a debt to the
extra-gravitational imagery of Christopher Nolan’s Inception, sharing with the 2010 film a fondness for bending
cityscapes and rotating corridors.
Derrickson also has to shuffle Benedict Cumberbatch into the
MCU, and it’s honestly a little shocking that a star this big had to wait eight
years to break in. But boy, does he fit right at home. Cumberbatch plays
Strange as startlingly unpleasant in the film’s first act (with a particularly
brutal one-liner to McAdams, which might be the MCU’s meanest line to date),
and his sincerity in scenes laden with special effects goes a long way to
selling us on the inherent strangeness (no pun intended) of the film’s
conceits.
While I might not have intended to make a joke just there, Doctor Strange intends several, with a
brand of humor that is more akin to the quirks of Guardians of the Galaxy than the snappy one-liners of Captain America: Civil War. (The
librarian Wong, in particular, reminds one of Dave Bautista’s Drax.) Indeed,
for all the high-concept magic and interdimensional strife at play in Doctor Strange, the film is surprisingly
funny, lighthearted in the way we’ve come to expect from the MCU. Even
characters like The Ancient One have their wry jests, and in that sense Doctor Strange’s sense of humor is more
unexpected and therefore more successful. (Humor, after all, relies on the
collision of the expected with the unexpected.)
As fantastic as Civil
War was, reminding us of all the things we’ve loved about the MCU, Doctor Strange has me excited for the
future of the universe, showing what can be done when the film tries something
a little offbeat, something new about which the audience might not already have
a preconceived notion. With Black Panther
and Captain Marvel on the horizon,
Marvel is setting up for a few new tricks, but if Doctor Strange becomes a kind of Iron Man for the future (both in setting tone and in installing an iconic
star as the figurehead), I’m on board for fourteen more.
PS - Be certain to check out a 3D screening. I can't imagine the film working halfway as well in two dimensions.
Doctor Strange is
rated PG-13 for “sci-fi violence and action throughout, and an intense crash
sequence.” Directed by Scott Derrickson. Written by Jon Spaihts, Scott
Derrickson, and C. Robert Cargill. Based on the Marvel Comics by Stan Lee and
Steve Ditko. Starring Benedict Cumberbatch, Chiwetel Ejiofor, Rachel McAdams,
Benedict Wong, Mads Mikkelsen, and Tilda Swinton.
Welcome to another installment of “Monday at the Movies.”
Today’s Halloween, so we’ve got a very scary feature on tap for you.
10 Cloverfield Lane (2016)
– For a film released back in March, there’s something suitable about me
finally getting around to it in October. 10
Cloverfield Lane is a quiet creepy success, perfect for an after-midnight
movie with all the lights out. Like its titular predecessor from 2008, 10 Cloverfield Lane is a bit of a
mystery box, about whose plot the less said, the better. There’s a fine twist,
though – where the original Cloverfield
left no question about its monster movie affinity, 10 Cloverfield Lane invites us to wonder along with our protagonist
Michelle (Mary Elizabeth Winstead) whether her captor (John Goodman) is telling
the truth that the world has been unlivably ravaged by forces unknown. Director
Dan Trachtenberg plays up the claustrophobic aspect of the bunker prison, which
might actually be Michelle’s salvation. Winstead is suitable as the damsel in
quasi-distress, an unsurprisingly competent hand at the panicked till. But it’s
Goodman’s show through and through. I’m a big fan of movies like this, which
give master craftsmen a chance to play a role that is truly terrifying, and
Goodman plays it perfectly. At turns, he’s the true monster of the film, a
horrifying abductor whose mouth-breathing portends a kind of supernatural
terror; in other moments, though, he’s surprisingly sensitive and
paternalistic, suggesting he might not be all bad – misguided, perhaps, but well-intentioned.
Of course, the film never cops out and does address its central questions, and
sooner than you’d expect, too, leading to a final act that is divinely unpredictable.
With the recent news that there’s more to come from the Cloverfield brand, 10
Cloverfield Lane doesn’t need to take me captive.
That does it for this week’s edition of “Monday at the Movies.” We’ll see you next week!
Back in 2012, I really enjoyed Jack Reacher as a surprising find amid the end-of-year fare that
December. It didn’t do much in the department of the new, but it excelled in
the field of competency and cleverness. Four years later, Jack Reacher: Never Go Back takes a clear and safe path down the
middle of the middling road, erring on the side of generic without ever living
up to its own promise.
Journeyman Jack Reacher (Tom Cruise) roams the country
looking to right wrongs, but when he arrives in Washington, D.C., to liaise
with Major Susan Turner (Cobie Smulders), he discovers that the major has been
imprisoned for espionage. Suspecting that a game is afoot, Reacher strikes out
on his own to pursue the truth about Major Turner and about the young girl
(Danika Yarosh) who may be his daughter.
Four years ago, it seemed fairly obvious that Jack Reacher was the launching point for
a new film franchise – although it seemed very much of a piece with Tom
Cruise’s Mission: Impossible work, Jack
Reacher was something of a scrappy American James Bond rather than the polished
and unflappable Ethan Hunt. Equally good in a fight or a moment of deduction,
there was much to like about Jack Reacher, even if the character wasn’t
particularly distinctive in and of himself. But, as they say, he could have
been a contender.
Instead, the sequel features Jack Reacher in a very generic
plot, a half-hearted thriller in the espionage mystery subgenre, which doesn’t
have much in common with the original film, nor does the protagonist actually
drive the plot. Indeed, the film might better have been titled Jack Reacher: Ladies Night Out, because
the three women – Smulders, Yarosh, and Madalyn Horcher, who plays a sergeant
who assists Reacher – end up doing most of the heavy lifting as far as
investigation and deduction go. (In fact, I suspect one might enjoy the film
more if we think, as I tried to do, of Smulders as playing Maria Hill in a
SHIELD-themed spinoff of The Winter Soldier. Henry Jackman’s score here certainly reminds one of such.)
When he’s in action mode, Jack Reacher is compelling enough,
but it’s tough to hang a whole film on running/jumping/punching (just askPacific Rim), especially when it’s
pretty much all that Reacher does of consequence in the film. And it’s a
particular shame in this film when there’s an opening scene that introduces the
character in pitch-perfect fashion – it’s the opener you’ve seen in trailers
for months now, and it establishes the character in fairly succinct order. He’s
a ferocious brawler with a sly sense of humor and a head for meticulous
planning. Now that’s a character in charge of his own film, and a character who
ought to enjoy a long and prosperous franchise.
We certainly get the former, plenty of action shots in which
Tom Cruise punches someone so hard he leaves a bloodstain on the wall behind
him. As action setpieces go, Never Go
Back is probably worth going back, but it lacks the deductive ingenuity that
made Jack Reacher such a surprise.
Much of those investigative elements are given to other characters, leading one
to wonder what Jack Reacher’s actually doing in this movie. Here, Reacher is
reduced to following orders (something the character isn’t, I presume, known
for doing) and roughing up ruffians who pursue him.
What he doesn’t do is command the screen in the way that he
did four years ago. If we’re going to disregard the subtitle’s advice and come
back for more in a third outing, let’s not give Reacher a sidekick or a love
interest or even a commanding officer. Just turn him loose and let him do his
thing. And let’s be smart about it, though “smart” is seldom the operating word
in a sequel.
Jack Reacher: Never Go
Back is rated PG-13 for “sequences of violence and action, some bloody
images, language and thematic elements.” Directed by Edward Zwick. Written by
Richard Wenk, Edward Zwick, and Marshall Herskovitz. Based on the novel by Lee Child.
Starring Tom Cruise, Cobie Smulders, and Danika Yarosh.
The Accountant was
something of a surprise to me. The trailers looked intriguing, but I had little
sense of the plot and knew only that it carried a very strong cast attached to
the project. There’s no accounting for taste, but there’s much about The Accountant that should compound your
interest.
Put another way, if we’ve just been through the
McConaissance, which saw Matthew McConaughey score big in a slew of major
projects, does this mean we’re well and truly in the age of the Benaissance? Has
Ben Affleck well and truly (and finally) redeemed himself after Gigli and Jersey Girl? Has the Dark Knight returned?
Ben Affleck stars as the eponymous accountant, Christian
Wolff, whose unassuming demeanor conceals his dangerous work as a bookkeeper
for the most dangerous illegal operations, cooking the books for drug lords,
terrorists, and enemy states. While two Treasury agents (J.K. Simmons and
Cynthia Addai-Robinson) pursue the mysterious accountant, Wolff is hired to
investigate the books of a robotic prosthetic company after a low-level
employee (Anna Kendrick) reports a revenue leak to her boss (John Lithgow).
Perhaps the key to enjoying The Accountant is not quite knowing what to expect, and the delight
of it is that there’s a little bit of everything in this movie. We’ve got espionage,
both corporate and political, organized crime and disorganized shootouts,
nascent friendships and deep family connections. You might even think of The Accountant as a superhero origin
story, showing how Wolff goes from a troubled boy on the autism spectrum to one
of the world’s most capable – and surprisingly dangerous – financial analysts.
Indeed, we might think of Christian Wolff as an autistic Jason Bourne, with a
mathsy dose of Batman sprinkled in for good measure.
(Sidebar, and without going into too much spoilery detail,
am I the only one who feels that J.K. Simmons was very much on a trial run for
Commissioner Gordon here? I wouldn’t be surprised to see a little bit of this characterization
carry over, and I think the hat would be a good fit too.)
I’ve had high praise for Ben Affleck over the last decade or
so; he’s evolved into a fine director, and I stand by my statement from back in February that he’s “an excellent choice” for Batman, on whose capable shoulders
DC seems to be resting their cinematic franchise. As Wolff, in a portrayal
where it might have been easy to phone it in, Affleck does more than one might
expect with monotone deadpans and escalating senses of panic brought on by
moments where he’s unable to finish a task (his dominant trait, I’d say, is his
single-minded devotion to completion). I’ve seen this movie touted as a
thriller, and while I wouldn’t go quite that far – it seems to defy
categorization in a way that I found refreshing (while others wanted more focus
in genre) – I would say that there are thrills to be had when we see Wolff
encounter a situation we know is going to trigger him, and we feel that same
building tension within ourselves, as when a cleaning crew begins to erase his
dry-erase marker work. Credit to Affleck for crafting a character whose
reactions are consistent and easy to understand and to anticipate, and credit
to director Gavin O’Connor for giving room for Affleck’s performance to shine.
Although there are other wonderful performers in the film –
one senses, for example, that Anna Kendrick’s character could have been a
downright sidekick in another version of this film, or that Jon Bernthal’s
shadowy hitman could dominate a movie all his own – it is first and foremost
Affleck’s show, and he handles it with grace. Points for creativity (hat-tip to
writer Bill Dubuque for an original and fulfilling script) and points for the
wow factor of surprise, but the bottom line is that it’s Affleck’s balance
sheet and the rest of the cast are just numbers that add up to one heck of a
film.
The Accountant is
rated R for “strong violence and language throughout.” Directed by Gavin
O’Connor. Written by Bill Dubuque. Starring Ben Affleck, Anna Kendrick, J.K.
Simmons, Jon Bernthal, Jeffrey Tambor, Cynthia Addai-Robinson, and John
Lithgow.
It’s impossible not to compare The Girl on the Train to 2014’s Gone Girl (or, in the world of the not-cinematic, to compare the two source
novels by Paula Hawkins and Gillian Flynn, respectively). Both are wildly
successful novels by women novelists, texts about missing and presumed murdered
women, told by unreliable narrators with the spotlight of suspicion cast on
nearly every character. They’re page-turners, and they’re both told with a
competence that one might not expect from a narrative which might otherwise be
fare for a Lifetime Original Movie.
In any other context, Tate Taylor’s adaptation of The Girl on the Train would be a runaway
hit. And perhaps it is unfair to compare The
Girl on the Train to Gone Girl,
but it is to my eyes unavoidable and Tate Taylor isn’t David Fincher,
and so Train becomes a distant
second. It doesn’t do anything wrong aside from not being Gone Girl, which – when the comparison
is so strongly invited – ends up a bit of a dark shadow.
Emily Blunt stars as the eponymous girl, Rachel Watson, an
unreliable narrator if ever we’ve seen one. Amid a fog of mass transportation,
substance abuse, and her own internal brokenness, Rachel thinks she observes
the key piece of evidence in the disappearance of Megan Hipwell (Haley Bennett).
Complicating matters, though, Megan lives a few doors down from Rachel’s
ex-husband and his new wife (Justin Theroux and Rebecca Ferguson), who suspect
that Rachel’s escalating derangement poses a danger to their family and to
Megan’s.
First of all, Emily Blunt gives a commanding performance as
Rachel. Fans of the book will not be disappointed by her interpretation of the
character, which is compelling in its unflinching precision in depicting her
battle with alcoholism, her dispiriting recidivism, and those moments where
book-readers will recall wanting to shake the poor woman by the shoulders and
implore her to come to her senses. Indeed, I almost wonder if Blunt will end up
filling out a lot of Best Actress lists come December. Ferguson and especially
Bennett do good work too, the latter displaying a range I wouldn’t have
expected after last month’s Magnificent Seven outing; as Megan’s psychology is unveiled in the film, Bennett keeps
strong pace with the character, such that a pivotal water drop in the film’s
third act becomes intensely significant and vividly understandable.
As I said above, though, Tate Taylor isn’t David Fincher,
and so Girl on the Train simmers with
these strong performances rather than Fincher’s film, which positively crackles
with its kinetic energy. Setting aside the similarities in plot, both films use
voiceover narration (which I usually deplore), Train doing so less effectively than Gone Girl, but I would give points to Train for finding ways to communicate visually the unreliability of
Rachel as a point-of-view character which the novel expressed in its narration.
Even Danny Elfman seems to be doing his best Trent Reznor impression on score
duty.
There are moments, then, when I don’t feel the comparison to
Gone Girl is unfair, because it does
seem at times that Taylor is aspiring in the direction of David Fincher. Points
in favor of Taylor (and Hawkins) – the film passes the Bechdel Test with far
more grace than Gone Girl ever did. It’s
surprisingly loyal to the book and very successful as a page-to-screen
adaptation, but what Girl on the Train
doesn’t do is transcend the Lifetime ethos with the fluidity of Gone Girl, nor do I expect Train to remain as rewatchable as Gone Girl. The Girl on the Train is very good at what it does, but what it
doesn’t do is end up as essential as Gone
Girl.
The Girl on the Train
is rated R for “violence, sexual content, language and nudity.” Directed by
Tate Taylor. Written by Erin Cressida Wilson. Based on the novel by Paula Hawkins.
Starring Emily Blunt, Rebecca Ferguson, Haley Bennett, Justin Theroux, and Luke
Evans.
Hands up if you’ve seen a film where Mark Wahlberg plays a
middle-class Average Joe who becomes an American hero after being thrust into
extraordinary life-threatening circumstances. Hands up if it was based on a true
story? Hands up if it was directed by Peter Berg? While statistically we’re
only talking about one other movie – Lone Survivor – it sure feels like we’ve seen this one before.
Wahlberg stars as Mike Williams, an engineer aboard the
doomed (and retrospectively ominously dubbed) oil rig Deepwater Horizon.
Against the advice of supervisor “Mister Jimmy” (Kurt Russell), BP execs (led
by a seedy John Malkovich) press on with the drilling operation, sparking
catastrophe when the rig ignites.
Deepwater Horizon
is competently told, frightening when it needs to be and rousingly admiring of
its real-life heroes in the obligatory epilogue in which we see photos of the
real-life casualties. That’s the thing about Deepwater Horizon, though; it’s entirely inoffensive because it
plays very much by the numbers of how you’d expect this film to bear out. Deepwater Horizon never truly transcends
the genre it inhabits.
As a piece of narrative fiction, Deepwater Horizon isn’t particularly thick. Its characters are
largely indistinguishable, set apart largely by the fact that they’re played by
different recognizable performers who lean heavily on their reputations or, in
the case of Malkovich, an accent bordering on the ludicrous. These are largely
seasoned veterans, quite comfortable in their cinematic personas. Wahlberg is
in top “say hi to your mother for me” mode and looks suitably beleaguered by
the harrowing disaster he endures. And Russell is finely stalwart as Mister
Jimmy, commanding the respect of his employees in a way that never beggars
credulity. But it’s not as though there are any surprises in this one as far as
acting goes. Ditto for the story, which ends up being a vehicle for big
explosions and opportunities for individual heroism (usually shot against a billowing
American flag, which is astonishingly flame-retardant).
When it comes to the spectacle, though, Deepwater Horizon is sufficiently compelling and doesn’t
disappoint. Indeed, it calls to mind an oceanic Alien, claustrophobic with no shortage of renegade scenery ready to
pop out without a moment’s notice. As with character, the film is unfulfillingly
thin on plot, but its special-effects sequences are engaging and amply
terrifying, though I’m not sure they have the staying power that make the film
strongly memorable.
Trailers before Deepwater
Horizon reveal that Berg and Wahlberg are reuniting for Patriots Day, a film about the 2013
Boston Marathon bombings. Whether this is the final installment of a thematic
trilogy or the shape of things to come, there isn’t much to suggest that
another film won’t be anything but more of the same. This “same” is fine
enough, but it’s doubtful that the third time’s going to flip the script. If
you’ve enjoyed it before, you’ll like it again, but unlike the depths which its
protagonists plumb Deepwater Horizon proves
to be a little shallower than filmgoers might appreciate.
Deepwater Horizon
is rated PG-13 for “prolonged intense disaster sequences and related disturbing
images, and brief strong language.” Directed by Peter Berg. Written by Matthew
Michael Carnahan and Matthew Sand. Based on a true story. Starring Mark
Wahlberg, Kurt Russell, and John Malkovich.
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