Stevie's introduction to her section at mediaslayerproductions.com.
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Sunday, March 28, 2010
As Seen On Demand: Cats Don't Dance
I was sitting in front of my television thinking I would review Bride Wars, when, to my dismay, I found that it was no longer available on demand (at least not where I could find it). What was I to do? How could I possibly review anything when that wonderfully horrible movie is no longer available on demand? Does this mean it won't be available on the higher channels anymore? How am I supposed to comment on a movie that people will have to download illegally or rent at the video store to see? Who wants to make that sort of effort?
Luckily, as I was looking under the Bs on HBO or Encore on demand, I came across the beginning of the Cs. And under the Cs, what did I find but one of my favorite non-Disney animated movie musicals of all time?
Now, to be fair, my love of 1997's Cats Don't Dance is largely a result of firmly placed nostalgia goggles. My sister and I loved this movie growing up. We'd sing the "Little Boat on the Sea" song in the car on long family road trips. She'd sing Darla's part, and I'd sing all of the animals. Now, she's studying voice at one of the top music conservatories in the country, and I'm an aspiring playwright who only sings occasionally at random coffee houses and with the revelers and wenches at the NJ Ren Faire.
Catcher in the Rye: "Digression!" Ok, to relate this to Cats Don't Dance...
The main reason I decided not to pursue acting or singing with my wonderful sister (who is extremely talented and deserves every decent gig or part she gets in the future) is that I don't take rejection well. Rather, I don't take constant rejection over things I can't change well. And as an actress with limited talent and even more limited appeal (read: the shy, fat girl), I don't have a prayer with community or student theater, let alone as a professional actress. With writing, at least, I won't be rejected based on my appearance. If I'm rejected as a writer, it's due to my crappy writing, and that's it. It can also be fixed.
In Cats Don't Dance, the lead characters have it even worse than I do. They can be fixed (*insert groans here*), but not in a way that would help them get parts in the harsh, cold, glitter-painted streets of Hollywood. They are animals- cats, hippos, turtles, goats, and penguins that can only get parts as unintelligent, non-speaking, animal extras.
Of course, this makes sense. In real (well, non-cartoon) life, animals don't talk. Elephants don't play the piano. Hippos don't sing. And, as the title states, cats don't dance. My very noisy cockatiel seems to protest (her name is Laurel, and she's watching this movie with me), but much of the human race and certainly the typecasting film market will never let animals get around this handicap. At least not in the world of live action.
Now, onto the film itself.
Cats Don't Dance follows Kokomo, Indiana native Danny, an orange, suspender and tie wearing cat with a passion for theater and an irrepressible urge to dance and sing on the silver screen. He takes a bus ride to Hollywood, which in his mind, is the place "where the streets are paved with gold, and the kitties never grow old."
The first number is mainly a series of animated cameos of real-life, human, classic movie stars who maintain caricatured faces and pause for paparazzi photos as Danny dances, sings, and causes chaos on his way to Mammoth Studios (known for casting animal extras and being a clear homage to MGM, right down to the roaring elephant in the company's opening credit sequence. On his way, he manages to mess with telephone wires, young gopher Pudge the Penguin (who, in retrospect, might be funnier if played by an actual gopher), and future love interest, secretary and former singer Sawyer, a beautiful persian cat that's probably every furry's wet dream.
Almost immediately after stepping through the door of Mammoth Studios, Danny gets cast in a musical version of the Noah's Ark story. The catch: he has one line towards the beginning. To no one's surprise, this one line is "meow."
From this point on, the movie becomes Danny's attempt to bring the animals out of their shells (metaphorical and literal, in the case of T.W. Turtle) and onto the list of famous Hollywood movie stars at Mammoth Studios.
Highlights of the film are the extremely catchy and memorable musical numbers and, possibly more so, child actress slash villain Shirley Temple...er, I mean Darla Dimple.
Darla Dimple is easily one of the greatest animated female villains, ever. Say what you like about Maleficent, Ursula, and Cruella De Ville (who, in her defence, may have hated animals as much as Darla Dimple), but at the ripe old age of five or six, Miss Dimple has mastered the art of manic demonization with a smile. Think Angelica from the Rugrats, with a better singing voice, at least seventeen times the level of malice, and one of the scariest monosyllabic henchmen/bodyguards ever to break through walls and throw cats off of tall buildings.
The songs...well, I saw this movie for the first time sometime back in the 90s. I hadn't seen it in years before today, and I can still get these songs stuck in my head. To this day, when I feel like singing and am trying to think of something to sing, my first thought is "I've got a song to sing, and if you don't like my song I'm gonna sing it anyhow." Just try to see this movie and get these ear-worms out of your head.
But does it hold up now, years later and once I remove my nostalgia goggles?
I'll have to say yes. The movie's pretty screwy and trippy with its bright colors, fast dialogue, and strange yet intentionally stereotypical characters, but the thing is, I think this as an adult. As a kid, it seemed completely natural to me. It's like several of the sites listed in Weird NJ- as an NJ native, I never really thought about Mary Ellis's grave behind Loews on Route 1 until the magazine mentioned it. I always knew it was there, but it just never registered. Maybe I was an especially tolerant and unjaded child, but I never saw any irony in this movie.
Years later, of course, I recognize the intelligence and satire involved in the writing, mainly in the portrayal of Hollywood, but as a kid, it was just a fun movie. And you know what? It still is. Say what you like about trippiness and mass appeal- I still love this movie, and I always will. And it's free on demand, so you should watch it and love it too. After all, as the singing, dancing animals tell us, "nothing's gonna stop us [them] now." Grade: A-
Luckily, as I was looking under the Bs on HBO or Encore on demand, I came across the beginning of the Cs. And under the Cs, what did I find but one of my favorite non-Disney animated movie musicals of all time?
Now, to be fair, my love of 1997's Cats Don't Dance is largely a result of firmly placed nostalgia goggles. My sister and I loved this movie growing up. We'd sing the "Little Boat on the Sea" song in the car on long family road trips. She'd sing Darla's part, and I'd sing all of the animals. Now, she's studying voice at one of the top music conservatories in the country, and I'm an aspiring playwright who only sings occasionally at random coffee houses and with the revelers and wenches at the NJ Ren Faire.
Catcher in the Rye: "Digression!" Ok, to relate this to Cats Don't Dance...
The main reason I decided not to pursue acting or singing with my wonderful sister (who is extremely talented and deserves every decent gig or part she gets in the future) is that I don't take rejection well. Rather, I don't take constant rejection over things I can't change well. And as an actress with limited talent and even more limited appeal (read: the shy, fat girl), I don't have a prayer with community or student theater, let alone as a professional actress. With writing, at least, I won't be rejected based on my appearance. If I'm rejected as a writer, it's due to my crappy writing, and that's it. It can also be fixed.
In Cats Don't Dance, the lead characters have it even worse than I do. They can be fixed (*insert groans here*), but not in a way that would help them get parts in the harsh, cold, glitter-painted streets of Hollywood. They are animals- cats, hippos, turtles, goats, and penguins that can only get parts as unintelligent, non-speaking, animal extras.
Of course, this makes sense. In real (well, non-cartoon) life, animals don't talk. Elephants don't play the piano. Hippos don't sing. And, as the title states, cats don't dance. My very noisy cockatiel seems to protest (her name is Laurel, and she's watching this movie with me), but much of the human race and certainly the typecasting film market will never let animals get around this handicap. At least not in the world of live action.
Now, onto the film itself.
Cats Don't Dance follows Kokomo, Indiana native Danny, an orange, suspender and tie wearing cat with a passion for theater and an irrepressible urge to dance and sing on the silver screen. He takes a bus ride to Hollywood, which in his mind, is the place "where the streets are paved with gold, and the kitties never grow old."
The first number is mainly a series of animated cameos of real-life, human, classic movie stars who maintain caricatured faces and pause for paparazzi photos as Danny dances, sings, and causes chaos on his way to Mammoth Studios (known for casting animal extras and being a clear homage to MGM, right down to the roaring elephant in the company's opening credit sequence. On his way, he manages to mess with telephone wires, young gopher Pudge the Penguin (who, in retrospect, might be funnier if played by an actual gopher), and future love interest, secretary and former singer Sawyer, a beautiful persian cat that's probably every furry's wet dream.
Almost immediately after stepping through the door of Mammoth Studios, Danny gets cast in a musical version of the Noah's Ark story. The catch: he has one line towards the beginning. To no one's surprise, this one line is "meow."
From this point on, the movie becomes Danny's attempt to bring the animals out of their shells (metaphorical and literal, in the case of T.W. Turtle) and onto the list of famous Hollywood movie stars at Mammoth Studios.
Highlights of the film are the extremely catchy and memorable musical numbers and, possibly more so, child actress slash villain Shirley Temple...er, I mean Darla Dimple.
Darla Dimple is easily one of the greatest animated female villains, ever. Say what you like about Maleficent, Ursula, and Cruella De Ville (who, in her defence, may have hated animals as much as Darla Dimple), but at the ripe old age of five or six, Miss Dimple has mastered the art of manic demonization with a smile. Think Angelica from the Rugrats, with a better singing voice, at least seventeen times the level of malice, and one of the scariest monosyllabic henchmen/bodyguards ever to break through walls and throw cats off of tall buildings.
The songs...well, I saw this movie for the first time sometime back in the 90s. I hadn't seen it in years before today, and I can still get these songs stuck in my head. To this day, when I feel like singing and am trying to think of something to sing, my first thought is "I've got a song to sing, and if you don't like my song I'm gonna sing it anyhow." Just try to see this movie and get these ear-worms out of your head.
But does it hold up now, years later and once I remove my nostalgia goggles?
I'll have to say yes. The movie's pretty screwy and trippy with its bright colors, fast dialogue, and strange yet intentionally stereotypical characters, but the thing is, I think this as an adult. As a kid, it seemed completely natural to me. It's like several of the sites listed in Weird NJ- as an NJ native, I never really thought about Mary Ellis's grave behind Loews on Route 1 until the magazine mentioned it. I always knew it was there, but it just never registered. Maybe I was an especially tolerant and unjaded child, but I never saw any irony in this movie.
Years later, of course, I recognize the intelligence and satire involved in the writing, mainly in the portrayal of Hollywood, but as a kid, it was just a fun movie. And you know what? It still is. Say what you like about trippiness and mass appeal- I still love this movie, and I always will. And it's free on demand, so you should watch it and love it too. After all, as the singing, dancing animals tell us, "nothing's gonna stop us [them] now." Grade: A-
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
As Seen On Demand: 8 Women
Welcome to my first in a series of reviews called “As Seen On Demand.” One of the benefits of the current state of digital cable/Comcast is the existence of movie channels within the 300 block (hooray for HBO, Starz, Encore, Cinemax, and Showtime!) and their subsequent on-demand selections. This series will celebrate the good and the horrible shown randomly on those channels. The movies you end up watching at 2AM when you’ve got nothing better to do, and the movies you always wanted to see but never knew they could be as completely mind-numbingly horrible until you finally checked them out on your own time, stapled to your couch.
Warning: There be spoilers ahead!
First up is 8 Femmes, or 8 Women, a 2002 French film. It’s sort of the French equivalent of Clue, except it’s an all-female cast. And they sing. And there are lesbians.
The first time I saw this movie, I had to say, “What the hell?” I wasn’t expecting anything unusual. I didn’t know that the film was based on a 1960s play by Robert Thomas (a play that no one seems to have performed since 1960, or so the internet would have me believe. Seriously. I can’t find a production of it anywhere. There was a notice about a performance in Singapore a few years ago, and that’s about it. So much for getting my community theater to perform it, English-speaking American audiences be damned). I just knew my French teacher was having us watch it in a series of French films we were viewing as a way of learning the language without doing any real work (the benefit of the senior year non-AP French credit).
The film opens with Suzon (Virginie Ledoyen) entering her brightly-colored, snowed-in French mansion. We learn quickly that she has returned on winter break from a generic and non-specific university, all to spend Christmas vacation with her wildly kooky family: uptight mother Gaby (Catherine Deneuve), sweet alcoholic grandmother Mamy (Danielle Darrieux), neurotic aunt Augustine (Isabelle Huppert), and not-quite-seventeen spunky and insolent sister Catherine (Ludivine Sagnier). Plus her long-time housekeeper Madame Chanel (Firmine Richard) and n00b maid/resident slut Louise (Emmanuelle Beart).
Oh, and she’s visiting her father, too. Of course. Or she would be, if he wasn’t dead in his bedroom. But we don’t know that yet. First, we get introductions to seven of the eight title women and an incredibly upbeat ear-worm of a musical number sung by Catherine (with Suzon and Gaby as backup dancers- by the way, there is absolutely nothing more amusing than seeing Catherine Deneuve as a backup dancer for a French teenager singing a sixties song in a movie that takes place sometime in the fifties). Anywho, after a little more time, Louise the maid goes to bring Monsieur Marcel, the patriarch of this shindig, his tea, and we find that monsieur est morte.
Eventually, we also get Fanny Ardant as streetwalker/estranged sister of the deceased Pierette. And from or through her, we get some of the best dialogue in the film.
Pierette to Louise, “Everyone knows you sleep around.”
Louise: “You know, since we sleep with the same ones.”
This movie has more ridiculous subplots than any movie I have ever seen in my entire life. Possibly combined. Watching it is like wandering around Sarah Winchester’s mystery mansion and trying to make sense of it all. There are plot points that are never explained (the father of Suzon’s baby, for instance- we get one extreme dun da DUUUUUUUUN of an explanation, and then we never hear about it again), conflicted relationships and character changes that rarely make sense (usually from Augustine), and songs that vary from slow and painful to perky and upbeat with a smattering of sultry mixed around, but that rarely if ever have anything to do with the plot and absolutely never have any bearing on the current conversation. (By the way, everyone gets a song, but the three best numbers come from Pierette, Gaby, and Louise).
Oh, and lesbians. Can’t forget the lesbians.
That said, it’s a world of fun. The ridiculousness is what makes it great. There are lines of dialogue that are so campy they’re hilarious:
Augustine: “I was polishing my mother of pearl comb.”
Gaby: “At 2AM?”
Augustine: “Combs never sleep!”
Etc. And the colors- oh, those bright, early 2000s equivalent of fifties colors. Oh, the color coordinated costumes. And the staging- oh, why does no one ever perform this play anymore?
The eventual reveal doesn’t make any more sense than the rest of the movie, but it’s still tremendously fun to watch. And I have made it my mission to make sure that every one of my friends sees it at least once. Either as a gesture of love or a form of torture. Beautiful French torture. With lesbians. Grade: B
Warning: There be spoilers ahead!
First up is 8 Femmes, or 8 Women, a 2002 French film. It’s sort of the French equivalent of Clue, except it’s an all-female cast. And they sing. And there are lesbians.
The first time I saw this movie, I had to say, “What the hell?” I wasn’t expecting anything unusual. I didn’t know that the film was based on a 1960s play by Robert Thomas (a play that no one seems to have performed since 1960, or so the internet would have me believe. Seriously. I can’t find a production of it anywhere. There was a notice about a performance in Singapore a few years ago, and that’s about it. So much for getting my community theater to perform it, English-speaking American audiences be damned). I just knew my French teacher was having us watch it in a series of French films we were viewing as a way of learning the language without doing any real work (the benefit of the senior year non-AP French credit).
The film opens with Suzon (Virginie Ledoyen) entering her brightly-colored, snowed-in French mansion. We learn quickly that she has returned on winter break from a generic and non-specific university, all to spend Christmas vacation with her wildly kooky family: uptight mother Gaby (Catherine Deneuve), sweet alcoholic grandmother Mamy (Danielle Darrieux), neurotic aunt Augustine (Isabelle Huppert), and not-quite-seventeen spunky and insolent sister Catherine (Ludivine Sagnier). Plus her long-time housekeeper Madame Chanel (Firmine Richard) and n00b maid/resident slut Louise (Emmanuelle Beart).
Oh, and she’s visiting her father, too. Of course. Or she would be, if he wasn’t dead in his bedroom. But we don’t know that yet. First, we get introductions to seven of the eight title women and an incredibly upbeat ear-worm of a musical number sung by Catherine (with Suzon and Gaby as backup dancers- by the way, there is absolutely nothing more amusing than seeing Catherine Deneuve as a backup dancer for a French teenager singing a sixties song in a movie that takes place sometime in the fifties). Anywho, after a little more time, Louise the maid goes to bring Monsieur Marcel, the patriarch of this shindig, his tea, and we find that monsieur est morte.
Eventually, we also get Fanny Ardant as streetwalker/estranged sister of the deceased Pierette. And from or through her, we get some of the best dialogue in the film.
Pierette to Louise, “Everyone knows you sleep around.”
Louise: “You know, since we sleep with the same ones.”
This movie has more ridiculous subplots than any movie I have ever seen in my entire life. Possibly combined. Watching it is like wandering around Sarah Winchester’s mystery mansion and trying to make sense of it all. There are plot points that are never explained (the father of Suzon’s baby, for instance- we get one extreme dun da DUUUUUUUUN of an explanation, and then we never hear about it again), conflicted relationships and character changes that rarely make sense (usually from Augustine), and songs that vary from slow and painful to perky and upbeat with a smattering of sultry mixed around, but that rarely if ever have anything to do with the plot and absolutely never have any bearing on the current conversation. (By the way, everyone gets a song, but the three best numbers come from Pierette, Gaby, and Louise).
Oh, and lesbians. Can’t forget the lesbians.
That said, it’s a world of fun. The ridiculousness is what makes it great. There are lines of dialogue that are so campy they’re hilarious:
Augustine: “I was polishing my mother of pearl comb.”
Gaby: “At 2AM?”
Augustine: “Combs never sleep!”
Etc. And the colors- oh, those bright, early 2000s equivalent of fifties colors. Oh, the color coordinated costumes. And the staging- oh, why does no one ever perform this play anymore?
The eventual reveal doesn’t make any more sense than the rest of the movie, but it’s still tremendously fun to watch. And I have made it my mission to make sure that every one of my friends sees it at least once. Either as a gesture of love or a form of torture. Beautiful French torture. With lesbians. Grade: B
Long awaited confessions of a movie critic
To the makers of the films I have bashed: I’m sorry. To the makers of the films I have praised: I’m sorry.
I have been writing reviews for TCR (F&M's College Reporter, for which many of these reviews were written) for nearly four years. I’ve applauded mediocre films and torn decent ones apart. I’ve let my expectations cloud my judgment, and artists that I enjoy have suffered when they failed to meet my vision of their potential.
I’ve got examples, too. In 2006, I gave Outcast’s “Idlewild” an A and Indigo Girl’s “Despite Our Differences” a C. Yet I haven’t touched Outcast since, and I still listen to several songs from “Despite Our Differences” on a regular basis. Both “Miracle at St. Anna” and “Confessions of a Shopaholic” have been circulating the 300 channels. Even though I raved about “Miracle at St. Anna” and sneered at “Confessions of a Shopaholic,” I haven’t rewatched the former, and I’ve watched the latter no less than 6 times since it has been on television and on demand.
The thing is, I’ve got different standards for different movies. I’ve got tastes that may or may not be satisfied (though, oddly enough, I’m far more likely to use grade inflation on a piece outside of my personal tastes), and if I expect nothing of a movie that turns out to be decent, it will get an A, whereas if I expect too much of a would-be decent movie, it will get a C or a D.
I’ve been wrestling with this bad karma for a couple of months. I’ve almost wanted to stop writing reviews, lest I screw another film over. For a while, I contented myself with the belief that no one reads my articles, but when a professor told me that she rethought seeing “Confessions of a Shopaholic” based on my review and a Tobey Maguire fan blog reposted comments from my review of “Brothers,” I had to rethink that theory as well.
So how do I justify writing the things I write? How do I justify giving a fluff comedy with a 17% rating on Rotten Tomatoes an A and, a week later, giving a Scorsese with a 65% Rotten Tomatoes rating a B (and a low B at that)?
First of all, I’ve decided that I judge movies by category. A decent romantic comedy will rate higher than a mediocre thriller, even if the thriller is an equal or better all around movie. I refuse to see anything wrong with this- after all, the Golden Globes do the same thing. It’s impossible to compare a movie that’s supposed to be fluffy fun to a movie that’s pushing for an Oscar. Who’s to say that the former should fail just because of its low-brow humor? If a comedy is really terrible, I’ll feel comfortable criticizing it, but I refuse to fail it just because it’s not “Titanic” or “Lord of the Rings” (though I will fail action films if they fail to live up to those standards).
Second of all, I see movies once before my reviews come out. I can’t help it. Albums, I have a little more leeway, but movies are expensive. Admission is anywhere from $8-10, plus popcorn and soda (without which, many of the movies I review would be unbearable). Add this to the fact that most movies come out on Fridays, and my reviews are due Sunday at the latest (thank you to my wonderful editors for putting up with my constantly late reviews). If I only see a movie once, I have to judge it based on my first impressions- not on its rewatch value. If I change my mind later, it’s too late to do anything about it.
I suppose the best (or worst) part of this scenario is that I plan on being a playwright/screenwriter post-graduation. Which means that someday, critics will be bashing my work. It’s tough to make a decent film, and to completely misquote Matt Scannell of Vertical Horizon, “Critics are people who can’t create their own art and need to tear down other people’s to make themselves feel better.” Well, after all of this, I still don’t feel better. Grade: D for effort. ☺
I have been writing reviews for TCR (F&M's College Reporter, for which many of these reviews were written) for nearly four years. I’ve applauded mediocre films and torn decent ones apart. I’ve let my expectations cloud my judgment, and artists that I enjoy have suffered when they failed to meet my vision of their potential.
I’ve got examples, too. In 2006, I gave Outcast’s “Idlewild” an A and Indigo Girl’s “Despite Our Differences” a C. Yet I haven’t touched Outcast since, and I still listen to several songs from “Despite Our Differences” on a regular basis. Both “Miracle at St. Anna” and “Confessions of a Shopaholic” have been circulating the 300 channels. Even though I raved about “Miracle at St. Anna” and sneered at “Confessions of a Shopaholic,” I haven’t rewatched the former, and I’ve watched the latter no less than 6 times since it has been on television and on demand.
The thing is, I’ve got different standards for different movies. I’ve got tastes that may or may not be satisfied (though, oddly enough, I’m far more likely to use grade inflation on a piece outside of my personal tastes), and if I expect nothing of a movie that turns out to be decent, it will get an A, whereas if I expect too much of a would-be decent movie, it will get a C or a D.
I’ve been wrestling with this bad karma for a couple of months. I’ve almost wanted to stop writing reviews, lest I screw another film over. For a while, I contented myself with the belief that no one reads my articles, but when a professor told me that she rethought seeing “Confessions of a Shopaholic” based on my review and a Tobey Maguire fan blog reposted comments from my review of “Brothers,” I had to rethink that theory as well.
So how do I justify writing the things I write? How do I justify giving a fluff comedy with a 17% rating on Rotten Tomatoes an A and, a week later, giving a Scorsese with a 65% Rotten Tomatoes rating a B (and a low B at that)?
First of all, I’ve decided that I judge movies by category. A decent romantic comedy will rate higher than a mediocre thriller, even if the thriller is an equal or better all around movie. I refuse to see anything wrong with this- after all, the Golden Globes do the same thing. It’s impossible to compare a movie that’s supposed to be fluffy fun to a movie that’s pushing for an Oscar. Who’s to say that the former should fail just because of its low-brow humor? If a comedy is really terrible, I’ll feel comfortable criticizing it, but I refuse to fail it just because it’s not “Titanic” or “Lord of the Rings” (though I will fail action films if they fail to live up to those standards).
Second of all, I see movies once before my reviews come out. I can’t help it. Albums, I have a little more leeway, but movies are expensive. Admission is anywhere from $8-10, plus popcorn and soda (without which, many of the movies I review would be unbearable). Add this to the fact that most movies come out on Fridays, and my reviews are due Sunday at the latest (thank you to my wonderful editors for putting up with my constantly late reviews). If I only see a movie once, I have to judge it based on my first impressions- not on its rewatch value. If I change my mind later, it’s too late to do anything about it.
I suppose the best (or worst) part of this scenario is that I plan on being a playwright/screenwriter post-graduation. Which means that someday, critics will be bashing my work. It’s tough to make a decent film, and to completely misquote Matt Scannell of Vertical Horizon, “Critics are people who can’t create their own art and need to tear down other people’s to make themselves feel better.” Well, after all of this, I still don’t feel better. Grade: D for effort. ☺
Valentine's Day
It’s a shame that this review is coming out after Valentine’s Day. Because the holiday’s namesake film, released this past Friday, is the perfect film to watch on February 14th.
Valentine’s Day is one of the most divisive holidays of the year. Couples can love the day as a chance to remind themselves of the puppy infatuation they felt when they first met, or they can feel completely inadequate for getting the wrong shade of roses from the over-packed flower shop. Single people can eat chocolate, go clubbing, and generally enjoy being non-committal for the day, or they can be absolutely miserable and want to pelt every happy couple with stale chocolate.
Luckily, moviegoers at “Valentine’s Day” this Friday left the theater feeling good about themselves and their current state of romantic existence. The film has so many different characters and subplots that it’s almost impossible not to relate to at least one of them. Single people leave feeling hopeful for the future, couples leave remembering why they’re together in the first place, and everyone in between just leaves feeling good about romance in general.
It’s amazing that I have gotten this far into this review without mentioning the cast. Anyone who saw the trailer for “Valentine’s Day” probably left thinking, “Who isn’t in this movie?” With an ensemble cast consisting of over twenty A-listers, this movie was easily Hollywood’s biggest employer outside of the restaurant business (yes, I went there). The thing is, after they’ve all been introduced at least once, it’s very easy to forget how star-studded this cast is. The stories blend and intertwine and progress well enough that the characters become and stay characters, rather than Ashton Kutcher, Jennifer Garner, Queen Latifah, Anne Hathaway, Julia Roberts, Patrick Dempsey, Jamie Foxx…(need I go on?).
The writing is very clever. There are one-liners and memorable scenes everywhere, most notably a scene where Jessica Biel breaks down in Valentine’s misery screaming at Jamie Foxx “My closest relationship is with my blackberry! Thank God it vibrates,” and a scene where Jennifer Garner poses as a waitress, publically humiliates her boyfriend in front of his wife, and then charges two lobster tail meals to his table. Some of the best humor comes from Taylor Swift (who can either act really well or really is a complete idiot- my money is on the former), Anne Hathaway (whose character is a receptionist slash phone sex operator), and Bryce Robinson (who at the age of ten is responsible for about 60% of the moviegoer’s giggles, awws, and general sensitivity- even Ashton Kutcher’s character calls him “the cutest kid in the world” after he earnestly tries to give Kutcher thirteen dollars for fifty-five dollars worth of roses).
There probably hasn’t been a film since “Love, Actually” that managed to do the ensemble romantic comedy film this well. Last year’s “He’s Just Not That Into You” almost achieved it, but it fell short of its goal in the end. As a predictable, gentle, February romantic comedy, “Valentine’s Day” won’t be winning any Oscars, but it’s still easily one of the best feel-good movies of the year. Grade: A-
Valentine’s Day is one of the most divisive holidays of the year. Couples can love the day as a chance to remind themselves of the puppy infatuation they felt when they first met, or they can feel completely inadequate for getting the wrong shade of roses from the over-packed flower shop. Single people can eat chocolate, go clubbing, and generally enjoy being non-committal for the day, or they can be absolutely miserable and want to pelt every happy couple with stale chocolate.
Luckily, moviegoers at “Valentine’s Day” this Friday left the theater feeling good about themselves and their current state of romantic existence. The film has so many different characters and subplots that it’s almost impossible not to relate to at least one of them. Single people leave feeling hopeful for the future, couples leave remembering why they’re together in the first place, and everyone in between just leaves feeling good about romance in general.
It’s amazing that I have gotten this far into this review without mentioning the cast. Anyone who saw the trailer for “Valentine’s Day” probably left thinking, “Who isn’t in this movie?” With an ensemble cast consisting of over twenty A-listers, this movie was easily Hollywood’s biggest employer outside of the restaurant business (yes, I went there). The thing is, after they’ve all been introduced at least once, it’s very easy to forget how star-studded this cast is. The stories blend and intertwine and progress well enough that the characters become and stay characters, rather than Ashton Kutcher, Jennifer Garner, Queen Latifah, Anne Hathaway, Julia Roberts, Patrick Dempsey, Jamie Foxx…(need I go on?).
The writing is very clever. There are one-liners and memorable scenes everywhere, most notably a scene where Jessica Biel breaks down in Valentine’s misery screaming at Jamie Foxx “My closest relationship is with my blackberry! Thank God it vibrates,” and a scene where Jennifer Garner poses as a waitress, publically humiliates her boyfriend in front of his wife, and then charges two lobster tail meals to his table. Some of the best humor comes from Taylor Swift (who can either act really well or really is a complete idiot- my money is on the former), Anne Hathaway (whose character is a receptionist slash phone sex operator), and Bryce Robinson (who at the age of ten is responsible for about 60% of the moviegoer’s giggles, awws, and general sensitivity- even Ashton Kutcher’s character calls him “the cutest kid in the world” after he earnestly tries to give Kutcher thirteen dollars for fifty-five dollars worth of roses).
There probably hasn’t been a film since “Love, Actually” that managed to do the ensemble romantic comedy film this well. Last year’s “He’s Just Not That Into You” almost achieved it, but it fell short of its goal in the end. As a predictable, gentle, February romantic comedy, “Valentine’s Day” won’t be winning any Oscars, but it’s still easily one of the best feel-good movies of the year. Grade: A-
Where The Wild Things Are
“Inside each of us, there is a wild thing.” So says the trailer for last week’s release of Where the Wild Things Are. The trailer also claims that the film comes from one of the most beloved children’s books of all time. The second statement is true because the book proves the first statement. Maurice Sendack’s world of wild things is the place that every child who falls asleep in a four-walled bedroom and every adult who falls asleep in a four-walled cubicle hopes to dream about. However, the film attempts to bring the world of the wild things back to a reality that tends to kill the magic more than it ignites it.
The film follows nine-year-old Max (relative newcomer Max Records) as he attempts to make sense of the world around him. His father is gone, his mother is with another man, he’s not allowed to break things or bite people the way he wants to, and, on top of it all, his teacher has just cheerfully informed him that the sun is dying. This seems like the perfect time to run away from home and straight into a group of giant creatures that completely understand the desire to break and bite everything- just try not to eat each other, or break too much.
Visually, the film works. The creatures are slightly goofy looking, but for a children’s movie, it’s both forgivable and lovable. The landscape of the wild things’ homeland is a beautifully peaceful forest and shore that would make anyone want to run away to join the creatures, bad tempers and appetites and all. Records is wonderful as Max, acting very much like a nine-year-old kid when the role calls for angry or adventurous yelling and ranting while maintaining sweet and serious innocence in his quieter moments.
However, the film fails when it tries to go outside of what the book called for. It is nearly impossible to make a decent film based on a twenty-page picture book. Almost anything else would be a preferable medium. Maybe a television series or web comic about Max and the creatures. Maybe some recording artist could create an album with songs about each individual wild thing and dress in Max’s creature suit and golden crown at concerts. Even a short play could work better than a full-length film based on the book. The film feels long when there is no plot, and what little plot there is tends to fall flat.
Why would the audience want to watch a failing love story between two of the creatures? It’s supposed to be a parallel to what Max’s parents have gone through with their divorce, but all it does is remind the audience why they want to escape into the world of the wild things. Sendack’s book took one image and made it last. The film takes the same image and makes it long and pointless.
The film might insight imagination in adults and children, but really, audiences would be better off reading a book or creating a world like this for themselves, alone in their rooms, allowing the trees to grow and the wild things to appear as Max does every time they turn the page. Grade: B-
The film follows nine-year-old Max (relative newcomer Max Records) as he attempts to make sense of the world around him. His father is gone, his mother is with another man, he’s not allowed to break things or bite people the way he wants to, and, on top of it all, his teacher has just cheerfully informed him that the sun is dying. This seems like the perfect time to run away from home and straight into a group of giant creatures that completely understand the desire to break and bite everything- just try not to eat each other, or break too much.
Visually, the film works. The creatures are slightly goofy looking, but for a children’s movie, it’s both forgivable and lovable. The landscape of the wild things’ homeland is a beautifully peaceful forest and shore that would make anyone want to run away to join the creatures, bad tempers and appetites and all. Records is wonderful as Max, acting very much like a nine-year-old kid when the role calls for angry or adventurous yelling and ranting while maintaining sweet and serious innocence in his quieter moments.
However, the film fails when it tries to go outside of what the book called for. It is nearly impossible to make a decent film based on a twenty-page picture book. Almost anything else would be a preferable medium. Maybe a television series or web comic about Max and the creatures. Maybe some recording artist could create an album with songs about each individual wild thing and dress in Max’s creature suit and golden crown at concerts. Even a short play could work better than a full-length film based on the book. The film feels long when there is no plot, and what little plot there is tends to fall flat.
Why would the audience want to watch a failing love story between two of the creatures? It’s supposed to be a parallel to what Max’s parents have gone through with their divorce, but all it does is remind the audience why they want to escape into the world of the wild things. Sendack’s book took one image and made it last. The film takes the same image and makes it long and pointless.
The film might insight imagination in adults and children, but really, audiences would be better off reading a book or creating a world like this for themselves, alone in their rooms, allowing the trees to grow and the wild things to appear as Max does every time they turn the page. Grade: B-
Dan Brown- The Lost Symbol
Monday’s release of Dan Brown’s The Lost Symbol should bring back a few memories. Five years ago, no one could talk about anything other than Dan Brown and The Da Vinci Code. Everyone had a theory; church-goers wept; books and television programs about Leonardo Da Vinci and the Catholic church seemed to be everywhere. Dan Brown became a household name like J. K. Rowling and Stephen King. Then, after the mayhem had worn down, Brown all but disappeared. Between pushing Lost Symbol’s release date back year after year, critics panning Brown’s writing style, and the failure of the Da Vinci Code movie, the world just forgot about Dan Brown and his shocking page-turners.
Until now, that is. Apparently, enough people remembered Dan Brown to send Lost Symbol to the top of Amazon’s bestseller list after the first day it was released. The novel sold one million copies this Monday, prompting the publishers to rush-print six hundred thousand copies in addition to the five million already in stores. Readers jumped on Lost Symbol with nearly a fifteenth of the exuberance given to J. K. Rowling’s Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows and almost the same rush as Stephenie Meyers’ Breaking Dawn.
However, is it really worth the hype?
Lost Symbol certainly feels like a Dan Brown book. The reader is constantly reminded of protagonist Robert Langdon’s flaws and quirks (claustrophobia, academic skepticism regardless of what he witnesses from book to book, and a Mickey Mouse watch to remind him to stay young). There is yet another female companion/possible love interest (with no mention, of course, of Da Vinci Code’s Sophie or Angels and Demons’ Vittoria). The police (in this case, the CIA) have good intentions but tend to mess things up for Langdon, and there is a mysterious and dangerous villain with a lot of tattoos behind it all.
The book is relatively fast-paced with short chapters and historical, scientific, artistic, and other miscellaneous tidbits that force the reader to decide whether to keep reading or pause and open Google. In Lost Symbol, Dan Brown chooses to step away from the Catholic church and concentrate instead on the Freemasons, but the defensive yet ambiguous portrayal of a secret organization under God and science reads about the same as Da Vinci Code and Angels and Demons (and, to some extent, Digital Fortress).
The flaws that ruin Dan Brown’s other books continue to ruin this one. The novel reads like a movie script. The characters aren’t particularly engaging, and it’s hard to really care about any of them (the sole exception being Langdon, and then only from loyal readers’ history with him). The book goes back and forth between fast-paced action sequences and long periods of dialogue and exposition, causing the reader to jump from page to page and then want to put the book down for a while. It’s a fast read, but a tough one to really absorb.
It would be easy to get caught in the mayhem and excitement of the plot and assume it really happened, except that skepticism left over from Da Vinci Code madness and criticism makes it difficult to take the book at face value. More disappointing, however, is the fact that, interesting historical tidbits aside, if you’ve read one Dan Brown book, you’ve read them all. There is no real growth between them, and while many readers (myself included) might be content to read the same book over and over again, this particular book lost its power back in 2005. That is, except for the nostalgia factor. Grade: B-
Until now, that is. Apparently, enough people remembered Dan Brown to send Lost Symbol to the top of Amazon’s bestseller list after the first day it was released. The novel sold one million copies this Monday, prompting the publishers to rush-print six hundred thousand copies in addition to the five million already in stores. Readers jumped on Lost Symbol with nearly a fifteenth of the exuberance given to J. K. Rowling’s Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows and almost the same rush as Stephenie Meyers’ Breaking Dawn.
However, is it really worth the hype?
Lost Symbol certainly feels like a Dan Brown book. The reader is constantly reminded of protagonist Robert Langdon’s flaws and quirks (claustrophobia, academic skepticism regardless of what he witnesses from book to book, and a Mickey Mouse watch to remind him to stay young). There is yet another female companion/possible love interest (with no mention, of course, of Da Vinci Code’s Sophie or Angels and Demons’ Vittoria). The police (in this case, the CIA) have good intentions but tend to mess things up for Langdon, and there is a mysterious and dangerous villain with a lot of tattoos behind it all.
The book is relatively fast-paced with short chapters and historical, scientific, artistic, and other miscellaneous tidbits that force the reader to decide whether to keep reading or pause and open Google. In Lost Symbol, Dan Brown chooses to step away from the Catholic church and concentrate instead on the Freemasons, but the defensive yet ambiguous portrayal of a secret organization under God and science reads about the same as Da Vinci Code and Angels and Demons (and, to some extent, Digital Fortress).
The flaws that ruin Dan Brown’s other books continue to ruin this one. The novel reads like a movie script. The characters aren’t particularly engaging, and it’s hard to really care about any of them (the sole exception being Langdon, and then only from loyal readers’ history with him). The book goes back and forth between fast-paced action sequences and long periods of dialogue and exposition, causing the reader to jump from page to page and then want to put the book down for a while. It’s a fast read, but a tough one to really absorb.
It would be easy to get caught in the mayhem and excitement of the plot and assume it really happened, except that skepticism left over from Da Vinci Code madness and criticism makes it difficult to take the book at face value. More disappointing, however, is the fact that, interesting historical tidbits aside, if you’ve read one Dan Brown book, you’ve read them all. There is no real growth between them, and while many readers (myself included) might be content to read the same book over and over again, this particular book lost its power back in 2005. That is, except for the nostalgia factor. Grade: B-
Couples Retreat
“Couples Retreat” is a mildly amusing comedy that has the audience asking similar questions about the film to the ones the film asks about the couples- do they have the ability to make this work?
It’s a tough question to answer with the film. The filmmakers began with a middle of the road premise and middle of the road comedic actors (such as B-comedy veteran Vince Vaughn). Given the proper amount of humor, maybe after breaking a few rules, this comedy could have worked. As it stands, however, the film proves that some comedies really are just doomed to fail.
“Couples Retreat” follows four couples as they make their way to a couple’s resort that turns out mainly to be a couple’s rehab. As the couples are forced to work together, what seemed good no longer seems so, problems that may or may not have actually been there are unleashed, and the couples continually resent each other and the therapists keeping them there.
Vince Vaughn shows no growth as an actor. In every movie that this reviewer has seen him (and as a former lover of Ben Stiller movies, it’s a decent amount), he has played the exact same character. Maybe the circumstances differed a little bit, but Vaughn never does. While there is some benefit to being a type (especially one that haunts the same comedies that will continue to be made for years), without a little versatility Vince Vaughn will discover that monotony can ruin a career the same way it can ruin a marriage.
As far as the other actors in the film go, Kristen Bell (Cynthia) is initially difficult to believe as a middle-aged housewife, but she and husband Jason (Jason Bateman) play the part well with decent emotional inflection as their marriage begins to fall apart. Kali Hawk (Trudy) is an increasingly irritating stereotype that appears to be there only for comedic value, which she begins to lack about five minutes into her performance. For such a large cast, the viewer would expect more memorable performances, but the others are as worth remembering as the distant relatives at a wedding reception. Most of them are really more caricatures than characters and don’t really do much to elevate the film.
The film is entertaining for the first ten minutes or so, and the landscape of the retreat can make any couple suddenly desire couple therapy (at least if it contains hot tubs in every room and free, fresh seafood every night). Most of the jokes run for far too long (most notably a yoga scene that jokes about sex as much as the PG-13 rating will allow) and fall flat quickly. The film is predictable to a fault, and the ending is atrocious. Like 50% of American marriages, “Couples Retreat” is a truly forgettable failure. Grade: C
It’s a tough question to answer with the film. The filmmakers began with a middle of the road premise and middle of the road comedic actors (such as B-comedy veteran Vince Vaughn). Given the proper amount of humor, maybe after breaking a few rules, this comedy could have worked. As it stands, however, the film proves that some comedies really are just doomed to fail.
“Couples Retreat” follows four couples as they make their way to a couple’s resort that turns out mainly to be a couple’s rehab. As the couples are forced to work together, what seemed good no longer seems so, problems that may or may not have actually been there are unleashed, and the couples continually resent each other and the therapists keeping them there.
Vince Vaughn shows no growth as an actor. In every movie that this reviewer has seen him (and as a former lover of Ben Stiller movies, it’s a decent amount), he has played the exact same character. Maybe the circumstances differed a little bit, but Vaughn never does. While there is some benefit to being a type (especially one that haunts the same comedies that will continue to be made for years), without a little versatility Vince Vaughn will discover that monotony can ruin a career the same way it can ruin a marriage.
As far as the other actors in the film go, Kristen Bell (Cynthia) is initially difficult to believe as a middle-aged housewife, but she and husband Jason (Jason Bateman) play the part well with decent emotional inflection as their marriage begins to fall apart. Kali Hawk (Trudy) is an increasingly irritating stereotype that appears to be there only for comedic value, which she begins to lack about five minutes into her performance. For such a large cast, the viewer would expect more memorable performances, but the others are as worth remembering as the distant relatives at a wedding reception. Most of them are really more caricatures than characters and don’t really do much to elevate the film.
The film is entertaining for the first ten minutes or so, and the landscape of the retreat can make any couple suddenly desire couple therapy (at least if it contains hot tubs in every room and free, fresh seafood every night). Most of the jokes run for far too long (most notably a yoga scene that jokes about sex as much as the PG-13 rating will allow) and fall flat quickly. The film is predictable to a fault, and the ending is atrocious. Like 50% of American marriages, “Couples Retreat” is a truly forgettable failure. Grade: C
Vertical Horizon- Burning the Days
Vertical Horizon has produced outstanding music in the past. Their single, “Everything You Want,” reached #1 on Billboard charts in 2000, and the song was played on every radio station at least a few times a day for months.
Even before “Everything You Want” came out, albums such as “Running On Ice” showed founders’ Matt Scannell and Keith Kane’s raw talent as musicians and singer/songwriters, producing songs such as “The Man Who Would Be Santa,” “Heart in Hand,” and “On The Sea.”
If you haven’t heard of these songs, I heavily suggest you do so before listening to their new album, “Burning the Days,” released this past Tuesday. Otherwise, you might think the band was “good,” instead of “spectacular.” That said, “Burning the Days” is definitely an album worth listening to (and waiting for- there have been six years between this album and the last and probably least of their six albums, Go, released in 2003).
The album starts with “All is Said and Done.” The song starts with congo-like drums that are reminiscent of something Peter Gabriel or Phil Collins might mix into the song. The song is one that gets stuck in the listener’s head very easily, because like former hits “Everything You Want” and “You’re A God,” it’s just so darn catchy. Such is the case with most of the songs on this album, to the point that it almost becomes oppressive.
Almost any song on this album could be a radio-friendly single. However, the band has chosen to release track five, “Save Me From Myself” as the first single off of “Burning the Days.” A rarity in the music industry (even “Everything You Want” pales next to songs like “We Are” and “Shackled,” both from the same album), “Save Me From Myself” is probably the best song on the album. It is one of the songs where the listener can best hear the raw, alternative-rock style of the full band, boasting slightly less production, clear harmonies in the chorus, and a killer instrumental bridge that’s probably amazing live.
Other notable songs are “Welcome to the Bottom,” a somewhat-cynical song with a terrific guitar solo towards the end, and the softer, sweeter “Even Now,” written by Matt Scannell of VH and Neil Peart of Rush, who also plays drums on several tracks.
The album only suffers in two ways. First is the lack of presence of Keith Kane, cofounder of the band. When the band was mainly an acoustic duo, Kane and Scannell mainly split songwriting and lead singer/guitarist duties. As a result, earlier albums had a lot more variety within them. On “Burning the Days,” Scannell is the only songwriter and guitarist, and Kane is only credited as performing “harmony vocals,” many of which are difficult to tell whether they are sung by Kane or Scannell himself (who is also credited with harmony vocals). As such, the album suffers a bit without Keith Kane’s style balancing out Matt Scannell’s.
The other way the album suffers is that in places, it appears to be a little over-produced. The songs are sometimes just a bit too smooth. This is a band with tremendous musical talent, which can be heard, but it would be much easier to hear without the overproduction. Because of this, while older fans will be able to love and appreciate “Burning the Days,” new fans would be better off listening to “Everything You Want” or “Running On Ice,” (or better yet, hearing them live- they give a spectacular live show) before giving this new album a try. Grade: B+
Even before “Everything You Want” came out, albums such as “Running On Ice” showed founders’ Matt Scannell and Keith Kane’s raw talent as musicians and singer/songwriters, producing songs such as “The Man Who Would Be Santa,” “Heart in Hand,” and “On The Sea.”
If you haven’t heard of these songs, I heavily suggest you do so before listening to their new album, “Burning the Days,” released this past Tuesday. Otherwise, you might think the band was “good,” instead of “spectacular.” That said, “Burning the Days” is definitely an album worth listening to (and waiting for- there have been six years between this album and the last and probably least of their six albums, Go, released in 2003).
The album starts with “All is Said and Done.” The song starts with congo-like drums that are reminiscent of something Peter Gabriel or Phil Collins might mix into the song. The song is one that gets stuck in the listener’s head very easily, because like former hits “Everything You Want” and “You’re A God,” it’s just so darn catchy. Such is the case with most of the songs on this album, to the point that it almost becomes oppressive.
Almost any song on this album could be a radio-friendly single. However, the band has chosen to release track five, “Save Me From Myself” as the first single off of “Burning the Days.” A rarity in the music industry (even “Everything You Want” pales next to songs like “We Are” and “Shackled,” both from the same album), “Save Me From Myself” is probably the best song on the album. It is one of the songs where the listener can best hear the raw, alternative-rock style of the full band, boasting slightly less production, clear harmonies in the chorus, and a killer instrumental bridge that’s probably amazing live.
Other notable songs are “Welcome to the Bottom,” a somewhat-cynical song with a terrific guitar solo towards the end, and the softer, sweeter “Even Now,” written by Matt Scannell of VH and Neil Peart of Rush, who also plays drums on several tracks.
The album only suffers in two ways. First is the lack of presence of Keith Kane, cofounder of the band. When the band was mainly an acoustic duo, Kane and Scannell mainly split songwriting and lead singer/guitarist duties. As a result, earlier albums had a lot more variety within them. On “Burning the Days,” Scannell is the only songwriter and guitarist, and Kane is only credited as performing “harmony vocals,” many of which are difficult to tell whether they are sung by Kane or Scannell himself (who is also credited with harmony vocals). As such, the album suffers a bit without Keith Kane’s style balancing out Matt Scannell’s.
The other way the album suffers is that in places, it appears to be a little over-produced. The songs are sometimes just a bit too smooth. This is a band with tremendous musical talent, which can be heard, but it would be much easier to hear without the overproduction. Because of this, while older fans will be able to love and appreciate “Burning the Days,” new fans would be better off listening to “Everything You Want” or “Running On Ice,” (or better yet, hearing them live- they give a spectacular live show) before giving this new album a try. Grade: B+
Brothers
The trailer for Brothers, released December 4th, would have the viewer believe that the film is an angry drama about jealousy between two brothers. The scenes in the trailer are dark, filled with screaming men (Tobey Maguire and Jake Gyllenhal) and tense music. The actual film, however, is much more than the glorified soap opera that the trailers suggest.
In reality, Brothers is a film about war. It’s hard to tell if it’s an anti-war film, but it shows the horrors of warfare in ways that the average American (shown through Natalie Portman, Jake Gyllenhall, and child actors Bailee Madison and Taylor Geare) cannot comprehend. Tobey Maguire plays marine Captain Sam Cahill, a soldier presumed dead but actually taken captive in an Afghani military camp. What gives the film its title is the relationship between Sam and his brother Tommy (Jake Gyllenhall), a rascal and implied rapist who is released from prison at the beginning of the movie and the relationship of both brothers to the Cahill family (most notably Natalie Portman as Grace Cahill).
Before continuing this review, be forewarned. Brothers is a brutal, brutal film. There is traditional war violence, but even more violent is the anguish. The film is so depressing that I had to play a round of Dance Dance Revolution in the theater lobby before I could stop crying and compose myself for long enough to write this review.
This is not, however, to suggest that the film isn’t worth seeing. Actually, the film itself is wonderful. Painful, but beautifully made and extremely well thought out. The film’s pacing is slow enough to allow for plot and character development (the best of which is often accomplished without any dialogue), but the film rarely if ever feels long or boring. The relationship between the two brothers is clearly marked, not so much through their interactions as through their interactions with the family members, and in a way that makes the audience members feel like they’ve discovered some bigger secret about symbolism and what every glance and line of dialogue means to the greater meaning.
What really makes this film wonderful, however, is the acting. The children are both adorable and poignant, with Bailee Madison giving an especially good performance as older sibling Isabelle (most notably in a scene at the dinner table where she confronts Sam about himself, Tommy, and Grace). Jake Gyllenhall goes from being a sullen drunk parolee to being a model of stability and fun in a very believable and likeable way. Natalie Portman is terrific as Grace, subtly portraying the emotional process of the grieving and subsequently healing widow of a man who isn’t actually dead.
All of these performances are great. But the one who absolutely deserves a Best Actor nomination is Tobey Maguire. Maguire reaches extreme emotional depths as Sam. His character’s development happens slowly, but extremely powerfully. It is impossible not to empathize with him, even as he unwillingly destroys a fellow soldier and willingly destroys his own house and family. If there was ever a poster performance for PTSD, it is Maguire as Sam.
For all of these reasons, everyone reading this review should go see Brothers. Just remember to bring tissues.
Grade: A-
In reality, Brothers is a film about war. It’s hard to tell if it’s an anti-war film, but it shows the horrors of warfare in ways that the average American (shown through Natalie Portman, Jake Gyllenhall, and child actors Bailee Madison and Taylor Geare) cannot comprehend. Tobey Maguire plays marine Captain Sam Cahill, a soldier presumed dead but actually taken captive in an Afghani military camp. What gives the film its title is the relationship between Sam and his brother Tommy (Jake Gyllenhall), a rascal and implied rapist who is released from prison at the beginning of the movie and the relationship of both brothers to the Cahill family (most notably Natalie Portman as Grace Cahill).
Before continuing this review, be forewarned. Brothers is a brutal, brutal film. There is traditional war violence, but even more violent is the anguish. The film is so depressing that I had to play a round of Dance Dance Revolution in the theater lobby before I could stop crying and compose myself for long enough to write this review.
This is not, however, to suggest that the film isn’t worth seeing. Actually, the film itself is wonderful. Painful, but beautifully made and extremely well thought out. The film’s pacing is slow enough to allow for plot and character development (the best of which is often accomplished without any dialogue), but the film rarely if ever feels long or boring. The relationship between the two brothers is clearly marked, not so much through their interactions as through their interactions with the family members, and in a way that makes the audience members feel like they’ve discovered some bigger secret about symbolism and what every glance and line of dialogue means to the greater meaning.
What really makes this film wonderful, however, is the acting. The children are both adorable and poignant, with Bailee Madison giving an especially good performance as older sibling Isabelle (most notably in a scene at the dinner table where she confronts Sam about himself, Tommy, and Grace). Jake Gyllenhall goes from being a sullen drunk parolee to being a model of stability and fun in a very believable and likeable way. Natalie Portman is terrific as Grace, subtly portraying the emotional process of the grieving and subsequently healing widow of a man who isn’t actually dead.
All of these performances are great. But the one who absolutely deserves a Best Actor nomination is Tobey Maguire. Maguire reaches extreme emotional depths as Sam. His character’s development happens slowly, but extremely powerfully. It is impossible not to empathize with him, even as he unwillingly destroys a fellow soldier and willingly destroys his own house and family. If there was ever a poster performance for PTSD, it is Maguire as Sam.
For all of these reasons, everyone reading this review should go see Brothers. Just remember to bring tissues.
Grade: A-
Shutter Island
Shutter Island will make you think, as any good psychological thriller will do. Trouble is, it sometimes makes you think a little too much.
The film stars Leonardo DiCaprio as federal marshall Teddy Daniels, who has been sent along with Mark Ruffallo to investigate a case of an escaped prisoner (or, as head doctor Ben Kingsley insists, patient) at the infamous Shutter Island asylum for the criminally insane.
In the first scene, we see Leonardo DiCaprio seasick and terrified of all the water around him as he travels by ferry to the island. It is clear that he is haunted by something- could it be his past life on the RMS Titanic?
No, it turns out that Daniels is haunted by his experience storming and liberating Dachau. And the death of his wife in a fire. Oh, and the fact that the man who killed his wife is somewhere in the asylum for murdering three children. What any of this has to do with water is beyond the viewer’s comprehension at the moment.
Visually, the film is the work of a master filmmaker. Martin Scorsese has created an appropriate gothic atmosphere for a 1950s prison/asylum, and the world of Shutter Island is bleak and terrifying with little or no hope of escape. The island itself boasts staggering cliffs and rocky shores, and if it wasn’t for the desolation of the situation (and the almost constant torrential downpour), it might actually make a neat vacation spot. Best of all are the dream sequences, most memorably one where DiCaprio speaks to his wife’s ghost (played by Michelle Williams) as ash falls from the ceiling, culminating in her collapsing into a pile of ash in his arms. The scene is reminiscent of a scene towards the end of 1408, but it still works. Composer Robbie Robertson’s score is a bit overly dramatic and heavy handed, so try your best to ignore it in favor of Scorsese’s visuals.
It’s unnecessary to talk about the acting. Ben Kingsley, Michelle Williams, Mark Ruffalo, and Leonardo DiCaprio are all as good as they usually are, but Shutter Island isn’t a particularly memorable film for any of them. They aren’t the problem.
No, the film’s main issues come with the plot. Before entering the theater, I asked a few viewers from an earlier showing their opinions of the movie. Every single one of them said it was confusing. I assumed they weren’t paying close enough attention, but even after going over the movie in my head for the past 22 hours, it’s still confusing.
While the final twists do make the viewer question reality, as they were designed to do, the path towards them is all over the place. There is absolutely nothing straightforward about this film.
Even though all of the little plot twists are somewhat necessary in the end (sort of), there are far more ways this film could be streamlined, and far too many subplots that make little sense and confuse the viewer. And even with every single foray into madness and incomprehensibility, the film still manages to be borderline predictable and anti climactic.
Fans of films like The Matrix, Seven, and Memento (or any M Night Shamylon movie, for that matter) might (I say might) enjoy Shutter Island’s mind boggling plot. Otherwise, get off of the island before it’s too late. Grade: B
The film stars Leonardo DiCaprio as federal marshall Teddy Daniels, who has been sent along with Mark Ruffallo to investigate a case of an escaped prisoner (or, as head doctor Ben Kingsley insists, patient) at the infamous Shutter Island asylum for the criminally insane.
In the first scene, we see Leonardo DiCaprio seasick and terrified of all the water around him as he travels by ferry to the island. It is clear that he is haunted by something- could it be his past life on the RMS Titanic?
No, it turns out that Daniels is haunted by his experience storming and liberating Dachau. And the death of his wife in a fire. Oh, and the fact that the man who killed his wife is somewhere in the asylum for murdering three children. What any of this has to do with water is beyond the viewer’s comprehension at the moment.
Visually, the film is the work of a master filmmaker. Martin Scorsese has created an appropriate gothic atmosphere for a 1950s prison/asylum, and the world of Shutter Island is bleak and terrifying with little or no hope of escape. The island itself boasts staggering cliffs and rocky shores, and if it wasn’t for the desolation of the situation (and the almost constant torrential downpour), it might actually make a neat vacation spot. Best of all are the dream sequences, most memorably one where DiCaprio speaks to his wife’s ghost (played by Michelle Williams) as ash falls from the ceiling, culminating in her collapsing into a pile of ash in his arms. The scene is reminiscent of a scene towards the end of 1408, but it still works. Composer Robbie Robertson’s score is a bit overly dramatic and heavy handed, so try your best to ignore it in favor of Scorsese’s visuals.
It’s unnecessary to talk about the acting. Ben Kingsley, Michelle Williams, Mark Ruffalo, and Leonardo DiCaprio are all as good as they usually are, but Shutter Island isn’t a particularly memorable film for any of them. They aren’t the problem.
No, the film’s main issues come with the plot. Before entering the theater, I asked a few viewers from an earlier showing their opinions of the movie. Every single one of them said it was confusing. I assumed they weren’t paying close enough attention, but even after going over the movie in my head for the past 22 hours, it’s still confusing.
While the final twists do make the viewer question reality, as they were designed to do, the path towards them is all over the place. There is absolutely nothing straightforward about this film.
Even though all of the little plot twists are somewhat necessary in the end (sort of), there are far more ways this film could be streamlined, and far too many subplots that make little sense and confuse the viewer. And even with every single foray into madness and incomprehensibility, the film still manages to be borderline predictable and anti climactic.
Fans of films like The Matrix, Seven, and Memento (or any M Night Shamylon movie, for that matter) might (I say might) enjoy Shutter Island’s mind boggling plot. Otherwise, get off of the island before it’s too late. Grade: B
Peter Gabriel: Scratch My Back
Peter Gabriel is one of the best musicians of our time. He was one of the founding members of Genesis in 1965 (a band that continues to exist and included and includes such names such as Mike Rutherford, Phil Collins, and Tony Banks), and during his solo career, he nabbed 20 Grammy nominations (and 6 wins). His song, “In Your Eyes,” is one of the most frequently covered songs in the genre, and most recently, he was simultaneously nominated for a Grammy and an Oscar for his song “Down to Earth,” off of the WALL-E soundtrack.
Peter Gabriel also hasn’t released a new album in seven years. Until this past Tuesday, when he released “Scratch My Back,” an orchestral album of covers.
Wait. This is one of the greatest living songwriters out there. And his most recent album, his first album in almost an entire decade…is an album of COVERS??
To give Peter Gabriel credit, he did make these songs his own. Most of them bare very little resemblance to any of the originals. Unfortunately, this is not always a good thing.
“Scratch My Back” suffers from a similar issue that Celtic Woman’s latest album suffers from, in that every single song sounds exactly the same. They are all slow, heavily produced, and very pretty. But an entire album of this tone is not necessarily the greatest thing to come from a pop-rock star capable of creating incredibly upbeat, fun, and memorable tracks.
The album begins with a cover of David Bowie’s “Heroes.” Unlike Bowie’s engaging original, Peter Gabriel’s version is so slow that my father, who was listening to the album with me, suggested that “maybe [Peter Gabriel] has a vendetta against Valium, and this is his way of cornering the market.”
The next track is a cover of Paul Simon’s “The Boy In The Bubble.” I do have to give Peter Gabriel some credit here- he takes a fun dance-worthy song with incredibly serious lyrics and brings the serious back to the lyrics. It’s insightful, and an interesting interpretation. It’s just not particularly fun to listen to.
Luckily, the album does get a bit better with track three, a cover of Elbow’s “Mirrorball.” The song is still slow and heavy on the strings, but it’s a bit faster and definitely more melodic. Unfortunately, his cover of Bon Iver’s “Flume” is right back to being laborious and torturous to listen to.
The idea of doing an entire album of strings isn’t that horrible an idea. The album is certainly intriguing, and I applaud Peter Gabriel for giving it a try. It just isn’t his best work, and it certainly isn’t worth the seven-year wait. Better luck next time. Grade: B-
Peter Gabriel also hasn’t released a new album in seven years. Until this past Tuesday, when he released “Scratch My Back,” an orchestral album of covers.
Wait. This is one of the greatest living songwriters out there. And his most recent album, his first album in almost an entire decade…is an album of COVERS??
To give Peter Gabriel credit, he did make these songs his own. Most of them bare very little resemblance to any of the originals. Unfortunately, this is not always a good thing.
“Scratch My Back” suffers from a similar issue that Celtic Woman’s latest album suffers from, in that every single song sounds exactly the same. They are all slow, heavily produced, and very pretty. But an entire album of this tone is not necessarily the greatest thing to come from a pop-rock star capable of creating incredibly upbeat, fun, and memorable tracks.
The album begins with a cover of David Bowie’s “Heroes.” Unlike Bowie’s engaging original, Peter Gabriel’s version is so slow that my father, who was listening to the album with me, suggested that “maybe [Peter Gabriel] has a vendetta against Valium, and this is his way of cornering the market.”
The next track is a cover of Paul Simon’s “The Boy In The Bubble.” I do have to give Peter Gabriel some credit here- he takes a fun dance-worthy song with incredibly serious lyrics and brings the serious back to the lyrics. It’s insightful, and an interesting interpretation. It’s just not particularly fun to listen to.
Luckily, the album does get a bit better with track three, a cover of Elbow’s “Mirrorball.” The song is still slow and heavy on the strings, but it’s a bit faster and definitely more melodic. Unfortunately, his cover of Bon Iver’s “Flume” is right back to being laborious and torturous to listen to.
The idea of doing an entire album of strings isn’t that horrible an idea. The album is certainly intriguing, and I applaud Peter Gabriel for giving it a try. It just isn’t his best work, and it certainly isn’t worth the seven-year wait. Better luck next time. Grade: B-
Gamer
Who needs World of Warcraft?
“Gamer,” released Friday, September 4, takes the violence of video games and pushes it a step further, asking several questions that gamers tend to avoid.
What if…the people in video games were not animations, but real people?
What if…death row inmates could avoid death by participating in real life battles in a simulated world?
What if…we could take actors like Gerard Butler and Alison Lohman and pretend that they no longer have any talent?
The story follows two MMORPGs, their players, the world that watches them, and the characters that inhabit them. One game, “Society,” is basically “The Sims.” The other game, “Slayers,” is reminiscent of “Halo.” The catch? The characters in “Society” are actually human actors interested in making extra money; the characters in “Slayers” are death-row inmates choosing to prolong their lives by participating in 30 battles (for 30 lives, possibly a nod to Halo’s Konami code). Any inmates that can survive “Slayers” for thirty battles in a row are promised freedom. Unfortunately, both the characters in “Society” and in “Slayers” are limited by the skill level of the gamers controlling them and the short delay between the player and the fighter, called “the ping.” Within these constraints, slayer Kable (Gerard Butler) must rescue himself, his wife, and his daughter from the simulated universe in order to restore their lives in the real world.
“Gamer” fails in the ways that many action films fail. The battle scenes are predictable and tiresome. The acting is wooden and boring, giving little reason for the audience to care about the characters. The plot is filled with action clichés- the strong yet tormented hero leaving behind a broken family (complete with beautiful wife and cute young daughter), the vaguely humorous but effectively disposable side characters, the Matrix-style secret society bringing down the evil from behind funky hair and computer screens.
However, within the conventions of the run-of-the-mill modern action film, “Gamer” does pull through and earn a few extra bonus points and, if not 30 lives, then at least one or two. Visually, the movie works nicely, blending the cosmopolitan, media and technology-saturated world of the future with the war-like atmosphere of the prisons. The video-game sequences feel like video-game sequences, and it’s not a stretch to assume that the actors are actually tech-puppets of remote individuals. The plot itself is intriguing and does peak the audience’s interest (though personally, I would have preferred a few more winks towards other MMORPGs. Imagine the warden telling the prison inmates that today, they must dress up as elves and wizards and fight each other with lasers, all to appease the fantasies of the real-life gamers. Groans and eye-rolls all around, and cheering crowds of Lord of the Rings fans watching Slayers on flatscreens). Supervillain Ken Castle (Michael C. Hall) would have worked better as a bumbling CEO rather than an evil mastermind, but he does bring the amusement whenever he’s on screen.
In the end, “Gamer” will appeal to the same audience it criticizes- actual gamers. People looking for a great work of cinema will be advised to switch theaters. Maybe they can make a game of passing the ticket ushers. After all, what are other people but non-player characters waiting to be bypassed?
Warning: Contains material that may not be suitable for children, including violence, profanity, and an incredibly random song-and-dance number ala “West Side Story.” Grade: C+
“Gamer,” released Friday, September 4, takes the violence of video games and pushes it a step further, asking several questions that gamers tend to avoid.
What if…the people in video games were not animations, but real people?
What if…death row inmates could avoid death by participating in real life battles in a simulated world?
What if…we could take actors like Gerard Butler and Alison Lohman and pretend that they no longer have any talent?
The story follows two MMORPGs, their players, the world that watches them, and the characters that inhabit them. One game, “Society,” is basically “The Sims.” The other game, “Slayers,” is reminiscent of “Halo.” The catch? The characters in “Society” are actually human actors interested in making extra money; the characters in “Slayers” are death-row inmates choosing to prolong their lives by participating in 30 battles (for 30 lives, possibly a nod to Halo’s Konami code). Any inmates that can survive “Slayers” for thirty battles in a row are promised freedom. Unfortunately, both the characters in “Society” and in “Slayers” are limited by the skill level of the gamers controlling them and the short delay between the player and the fighter, called “the ping.” Within these constraints, slayer Kable (Gerard Butler) must rescue himself, his wife, and his daughter from the simulated universe in order to restore their lives in the real world.
“Gamer” fails in the ways that many action films fail. The battle scenes are predictable and tiresome. The acting is wooden and boring, giving little reason for the audience to care about the characters. The plot is filled with action clichés- the strong yet tormented hero leaving behind a broken family (complete with beautiful wife and cute young daughter), the vaguely humorous but effectively disposable side characters, the Matrix-style secret society bringing down the evil from behind funky hair and computer screens.
However, within the conventions of the run-of-the-mill modern action film, “Gamer” does pull through and earn a few extra bonus points and, if not 30 lives, then at least one or two. Visually, the movie works nicely, blending the cosmopolitan, media and technology-saturated world of the future with the war-like atmosphere of the prisons. The video-game sequences feel like video-game sequences, and it’s not a stretch to assume that the actors are actually tech-puppets of remote individuals. The plot itself is intriguing and does peak the audience’s interest (though personally, I would have preferred a few more winks towards other MMORPGs. Imagine the warden telling the prison inmates that today, they must dress up as elves and wizards and fight each other with lasers, all to appease the fantasies of the real-life gamers. Groans and eye-rolls all around, and cheering crowds of Lord of the Rings fans watching Slayers on flatscreens). Supervillain Ken Castle (Michael C. Hall) would have worked better as a bumbling CEO rather than an evil mastermind, but he does bring the amusement whenever he’s on screen.
In the end, “Gamer” will appeal to the same audience it criticizes- actual gamers. People looking for a great work of cinema will be advised to switch theaters. Maybe they can make a game of passing the ticket ushers. After all, what are other people but non-player characters waiting to be bypassed?
Warning: Contains material that may not be suitable for children, including violence, profanity, and an incredibly random song-and-dance number ala “West Side Story.” Grade: C+
Celtic Woman: Songs From The Heart
I love Celtic and Celtic-style music. Growing up with a father who loves fantasy, wishes he was Irish, and took me to every Renaissance fair in the tristate area at least once (and the NJ one every year since I was born) made it nearly impossible for me to dislike Celtic music. I saw Riverdance when I was thirteen, spent months geeking over the Loreena McKennitt concert I saw in Harrisburg three years ago, and have gone to the Pennsylvania Renaissance Fair for the sheer purpose of seeing the Tartan Terrors perform.
So when I first heard about Celtic Woman back in high school, I was both intrigued and skeptical. On one hand, there are never really that many Celtic, world, or new age style artists that get mainstream attention, so it was fun to hear a new one. On the other hand, how good could a group that literally calls themselves “Celtic Woman” be?
Thankfully, Celtic Woman is capable of putting out some really great music. The musicians are all talented; the vocalists can all really sing, and the fiddler can singlehandedly get the audience to give a standing ovation (and if she doesn’t, she should). They give a really great stage show, and some of their songs, including the instrumental “Butterfly” from their self-titled album, are the types of songs that can be heard over and over again without getting old. Gimmick or not, they really are a good group.
So why did they have to ruin all of that with “Songs from the Heart,” released January 26th?
To give credit where credit is due, there is still some good music on this album. The third track, “Nil Se’n La,” is very catchy. I almost forgot about it once I had made it further down the list, but if I could pretend that this was the only song on the album, it might even be worth listening to. It is the type of song that makes the listener want to get up and dance, as is the instrumental track seven, “The Coast of Galicia.” The last song on the album, a very abridged live version of the classic “Mo Ghile Mear,” also has this quality. Unfortunately, these are all of three songs on the fifteen-song album.
Every album has to have a ballad. That ballad can be slow and have powerful instrumental backing and try to make a statement about the world, family, the environment, what have you. Maybe this song is the last song on the album, or the second to last. It can be good, it can be bad, but it is distinct enough to be memorable. It is fine if an album has one of these songs. It is not ok to have the entire album be like this.
Celtic Woman’s rendition of “Amazing Grace,” track two, would be lovely if they could make the harmonies the focus and take out the overproduction that screams “we’re trying to create a moment.” For that matter, why is Celtic Woman covering “Amazing Grace” to begin with? Or sweetening the hell out of already saccharine songs like “When You Believe,” “You’ll Be In My Heart,” and “O, America!”? In what universe are these songs even considered Celtic? What is going on, Celtic Woman?
“Songs from the Heart” is fine if you like every song to be in the same attempted-uplifting key, with very little substance or risk taking, and almost none of the fun that Celtic music and Celtic Woman is capable of having. Unfortunately, this Celtic music fan doesn’t. Grade: C-
So when I first heard about Celtic Woman back in high school, I was both intrigued and skeptical. On one hand, there are never really that many Celtic, world, or new age style artists that get mainstream attention, so it was fun to hear a new one. On the other hand, how good could a group that literally calls themselves “Celtic Woman” be?
Thankfully, Celtic Woman is capable of putting out some really great music. The musicians are all talented; the vocalists can all really sing, and the fiddler can singlehandedly get the audience to give a standing ovation (and if she doesn’t, she should). They give a really great stage show, and some of their songs, including the instrumental “Butterfly” from their self-titled album, are the types of songs that can be heard over and over again without getting old. Gimmick or not, they really are a good group.
So why did they have to ruin all of that with “Songs from the Heart,” released January 26th?
To give credit where credit is due, there is still some good music on this album. The third track, “Nil Se’n La,” is very catchy. I almost forgot about it once I had made it further down the list, but if I could pretend that this was the only song on the album, it might even be worth listening to. It is the type of song that makes the listener want to get up and dance, as is the instrumental track seven, “The Coast of Galicia.” The last song on the album, a very abridged live version of the classic “Mo Ghile Mear,” also has this quality. Unfortunately, these are all of three songs on the fifteen-song album.
Every album has to have a ballad. That ballad can be slow and have powerful instrumental backing and try to make a statement about the world, family, the environment, what have you. Maybe this song is the last song on the album, or the second to last. It can be good, it can be bad, but it is distinct enough to be memorable. It is fine if an album has one of these songs. It is not ok to have the entire album be like this.
Celtic Woman’s rendition of “Amazing Grace,” track two, would be lovely if they could make the harmonies the focus and take out the overproduction that screams “we’re trying to create a moment.” For that matter, why is Celtic Woman covering “Amazing Grace” to begin with? Or sweetening the hell out of already saccharine songs like “When You Believe,” “You’ll Be In My Heart,” and “O, America!”? In what universe are these songs even considered Celtic? What is going on, Celtic Woman?
“Songs from the Heart” is fine if you like every song to be in the same attempted-uplifting key, with very little substance or risk taking, and almost none of the fun that Celtic music and Celtic Woman is capable of having. Unfortunately, this Celtic music fan doesn’t. Grade: C-
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