Editorial: Why Sony Cancelled "The Interview"

INTERVIEW CONCLUDED by Bennett Campbell Ferguson

Above: A poster for "The Interview," featuring its stars, Seth Rogen and James Franco

 

Like a freak snowstorm, the news breathed through my radio: Sony pictures had decided not to release their film “The Interview.” 

I was shocked.  I hadn’t even been planning to see the film, yet the announcement made me feel like I’d had the wind knocked out of me, like that time when I crashed down on the bark chips in third grade.  A whole movie, an entire mega-budget movie had been completed and wasn’t going to be released?  It was unheard of.  It was frightening.

            “The Interview” was always going to be a shot in the dark of Christmas Day (its penciled-in release date).  Directed by Evan Goldberg and Seth Rogen, it was a comedy about a talk show host (James Franco) hired to assassinate Kim Jong-un, leading to a series of hi jinks in which, judging by the trailer (which features tank-fueled explosions and a Katy Perry song), nothing goes according to the proverbial plan.

            I could never quite believe that “The Interview” got made in the first place.  A film about the attempted murder of a known world leader?  From the directors a gross-out Hollywood comedy called “This Is The End”?  It seemed like an unbelievably brash proposition.  Of course for all I know (and now, I’ll never know), “The Interview” is a tepid, easy blockbuster filled with blandly crowd-pleasing drug and sex gags.  But I have to admit that I was struck by the ludicrous audacity of Mr. Goldberg and Mr. Rogen making a movie that would have further collapsed the divide between pop culture and politics.

            I’m not here to offer my opinions on Sony’s decision.  Or the movie.  Perhaps “The Interview” is an unseen masterpiece; perhaps the fact that it will never be seen makes it more interesting than it deserves to be.  I just want to implore you to take in the importance of what this means for the film community.  A major studio made a movie, was threatened with retribution, and decided to keep it from theaters, even though it meant losing tens of millions of dollars.

            Now we find out what happens next.

Editorial: Why Jonathan Frakes Should Direct The Next "Star Trek"

FRAKES FOREVER by Bennett Campbell Ferguson

Above: Mr. Frakes, playing William Riker

 

In the late 1980s, Jonathan Frakes decided that he wanted to direct an episode of “Star Trek: The Next Generation.”  It wasn’t an outlandish idea; he was already an integral part of the show as the heroically-bearded Commander William Riker.  Nevertheless, the producers of “TNG” answered his request with an ultimatum: go to film school.

            For some actors, that would be the end of it.  But Mr. Frakes did indeed go onto study film, which led to his directorial debut—a “TNG” episode called “The Offspring.”  And it wasn’t just good; it was heart-swelling.  A story about a father, a daughter, and an anguished moment of technological failure, “The Offspring” was both painful and wonderful, an ode to parenthood, unexpected humanity, and, most of all, love.

            Post-“Offspring,” Mr. Frakes firmly established himself as a fine television director, before graduating to movies by directing two “Star Trek” films (“Star Trek: First Contact” and “Star Trek: Insurrection,” both excellent).  But now, if he has his way, that achievement will be eclipsed by the heftiest undertaking of his career—directing the third installment in the bigger, louder, brighter, J.J. Abrams-produced “Star Trek” saga.

            There are some, I’m sure, who think that Mr. Frakes is a relic, that the new “Trek” should be handed to a blockbuster maven at the height of their popularity (like Rupert Wyatt or Edgar Wright, both of whom have been rumored for the job).  But I disagree.  I argue that not only is Mr. Frakes the right man for the project because he understands “Star Trek,” but because he is a bold and sensitive filmmaker, an artist wise to the omnipotence of emotion and the tactile details that reveal it.

            Understanding “Star Trek” has always been a damning obstacle for filmmakers.  Ever since William Shatner’s Captain Kirk first announced his intention “to boldly go where no man has gone before,” “Star Trek” has been about exploration, not conflict.  Yet while the franchise has produced some fine sci-fi films, even the best of them dutifully imitate the “Star Wars” formula—an intergalactic tyrant gets his crafty hands on a super-weapon and the fireworks begin.  And that’s made it difficult for the series to probe its signature questions about the nature of humanity and the ethics of exploration.

            I can’t say that Mr. Frakes has entirely avoided this booby trap; after all, the villains of “First Contact” and “Insurrection” (Alice Krige’s Borg Queen and F. Murray Abraham’s Ru’afo, respectively) both had the usual planet-destroying ambitions.  Yet Mr. Frakes made more of them than most filmmakers would.  The Borg Queen, for one, was not solidly evil; she tempted even the noble android Data (Brent Spiner) with her offer of power and sexual pleasure.  “Strange,” Data murmurs after slaying her.  “Part of me is sad that she is gone.”

            “Insurrection” was an even richer tapestry.  Set on idyllic, youth-preserving planet, it allowed the “Trek” characters to frisk about in the sun, casting off their inhibitions (along with their trademark purple uniforms).  Patrick Stewart’s Picard danced to an Alan Silvestri mambo; Data bonded with a young, technophobic boy; and Marina Sirtis’ Troi and Mr. Frakes’ own Riker got into some bubble bath-related mischief that is better seen than described.  The kicker?  That all of these hi jinks were more than crowd-pleasing; they exemplified the characters’ playfulness and their love for each other, offering a lithe and gentle spirit that could be a perfect way to soften the aggressively fast-paced violence of Mr. Abrams’ films.

            I don’t mean to knock Mr. Abrams—he’s a true auteur, a beautifully eccentric talent who infuses all of his projects with a singular blend of anguish and adrenaline.  Yet I still think that Mr. Frakes is a gifted filmmaker in his own right, especially when it comes to penetrating the private spaces of characters.  Remember the moment in “First Contact” when Picard washes his face in a small metal sink?  Or when Michael Dorn’s Worf bangs his head on his bedroom ceiling in “Insurrection”?  I do.  Those scenes may not have made it into the “Star Trek” history books, but they provided more character development than a hundred-page monologue about an unhappy childhood ever could.

That said, several years have passed since Mr. Frakes last directed a theatrically-released movie (his last was 2004’s “Thunderbirds”); for all I know, his talent has waned in the intervening years.  But as a both a “Star Trek” fan and movie lover, I want to see him return to that adventurous, hopeful universe.  Any filmmaker can make a “Trek” movie, but Mr. Frakes is one of the few who can say that right or wrong, hit or miss, his will mean something, will transport you, take you into the vistas of space and into the thoughts of its explorers as they boldly go, yet again.

Movie Review: "It's A Wonderful Life" (Frank Capra, 1942)

BEDFORD CALLING by Bennett Campbell Ferguson

Above: George Bailey (James Stewart) faces his fate in Mr. Capra's film

 

You know James Stewart—that likable, halting, gangly movie star, the actor who so confidently played the awkward everyman.  Yet behind his casual humanity is something else: anger.  Alfred Hitchcock tapped it in “Vertigo,” but it spews most forcefully in Frank Capra’s 1942 magical-realist drama “It’s A Wonderful Life.”  The first time you see Mr. Stewart in the movie, he’s spreading his arms wide, smiling innocently, and looking utterly wholesome.  But before the film’s runtime has elapsed, that familiar face contorts as Mr. Stewart shouts and runs, breaking out into storms of sadness and violence.

            Why then, do so many people watch the movie on Christmas Day?  “It’s A Wonderful Life” may be optimistic, but it’s also ferocious and even ghoulish.  As a late scene in a graveyard shows, it’s equally suited for a midnight screening on Halloween.  Yet Mr. Capra’s movie is no fright fest—instead, it is a vibrant, emotional journey of one man struggling against his own demons and the world’s.

            That man is George Bailey (Mr. Stewart), a kid growing up in the fictional town of Bedford Falls, New York.  He’s eager to leave and it’s not hard to see why—Bedford doesn’t look like much fun, especially since it’s ruled by a sneering, wealthy tycoon named Henry Potter (a fantastic Lionel Barrymore).  Yet on the night of his departure, George’s father asks if he would ever consider working at the family business, the town Building in Loan.  “I couldn’t stand being cooped in an office,” George protests.  But even as he says it, you can almost sense that he’s doomed to do just that.

            And so it begins—a pattern of painful, infuriating events that keeps George trapped in Bedford, running the Building in Loan.  First his father dies; then his brother gets married and refuses to take over the business.  That leaves George, never one to mince words but never one to say no either, to stay at the office, knowing that his puny but honest bank is the last obstacle blocking Potter’s attempts to financially exploit the town.

            It’s better not to dwell on the economic realities of George’s life; the movie’s not concerned with them and you shouldn’t be either.  What does matter to Mr. Capra (who adapted the film from Philip Van Doren Stern’s short story “The Greatest Gift”) is the anguish of George.  It’s not just that he’s trapped in a small town he’s always hated; it’s that it’s a miserable, hopeless place.  Mr. Barrymore, alive with eager cruelty, haunts the film and even when George’s life really is wonderful, it seems bleak.  Look at the scene where he and his wife (Donna Murphy) hold a house warming party for their friends.  First they’re happy; then they’re left alone on a dusty road, caught in the quiet.

            If “It’s A Wonderful Life” was merely the moral drama it initially appears to be, it would be a painful and beautiful work.  But the supernatural turn that sharpens the final act makes it a masterwork.  Battered, drunken, and hated, George stumbles through Beford’s snow-mushy streets one Christmas Eve, having lost all faith in himself.  But then, guided by his guardian angel, Clarence (Henry Travers), he sees something strange—a vision of what the world would be like if he’d never been born.  “Each man’s life touches so many others,” Clarence says.  Everything that follows movingly and chillingly proves his point.

            I don’t want to spoil the rest.  The vision of the world without George is perversely alluring—a chaotic alternate reality where Bedford Falls is overrun by tyrants, drunks, and hookers.  But the film still finds its way back, back from the edge of the bridge where George imagines killing himself, back from the dreary rage of the Building in Loan, and back to the home where George’s family and friends are waiting for him. 

Maybe George should have left Bedford in the beginning; maybe he should never have stayed behind and been nobly miserable for the sake of others.  But what makes “It’s A Wonderful Life” so meaningful is that in the end, its bitter, selfless hero finds some wonder, if not in the way he always imagined.

Trailer Dossier: "Star Wars: Episode VII--The Force Awakens" (J.J. Abrams, 2015)

BACK TO THE FRONTLINES by Bennett Campbell Ferguson

Above: Oscar Isaac takes the controls of an X-Wing in the next "Star Wars" film

 

“A well conceived plan.”  So said Qui-Gon Jinn in “Star Wars: Episode I” when Queen Amidala unveiled her anti-Trade Federation battle plans.  And so say I of Disney’s marketing strategy for the forthcoming “Star Wars: Episode VII—The Force Awakens.”   It’s brilliant, really—dropping a trailer the day after Thanksgiving was the perfect method for stoking the fires of “Star Wars”-friendly Christmas shopping (and more than a year before the movie premieres, no less).

            I’m not really that cynical.  It’s just that in the pantheon of my cinematic loves, the “Star Wars” saga is right up there with Christopher Nolan, the first Spider-Man trilogy, and the final scene of “Lost In Translation.”  And to me, Richard Marquand’s concluding chapter, “Return of the Jedi,” was the perfect cap to the series’ outer space war of good versus evil—a tragic, tender, and exhilaratingly emotional blockbuster.  Any attempt to go beyond such a meaningful wrap party can’t help but look economically brilliant and artistically unwise.

            Still, there’s much to love in the “Force Awakens” trailer.  The first shot of a young soldier abruptly rising into the frame may look cartoonish (the actor, John Boyega, wears a white uniform that looks like a Halloween costume), but that may be the point.  At its best, “Star Wars” had always had an anarchic comic book feel, and a mischievous blast of roguish fun—the spark best supplied in the original films by Harrison Ford’s heroic scoundrel Han Solo.

            Mr. Ford doesn’t appear in this trailer (even though he does star in the film), which disappointed me.  Still, it makes sense for director J.J. Abrams to save the best for last, and what he does offer here is promising—shots of familiar spaceships skirting over a watery planet; a round robot rolling across a dessert, making vibrantly squeaky noises; and sleek, gleaming-red sci-fi weaponry, promising the conflict that will inevitably fill the film.

            In other words, the trailer for “The Force Awakens” is a visually magnetic, tantalizing piece of pop art in and of itself.  That doesn’t bode either ill or well for the film (after all, plenty of bad movies have beautiful trailers), but it does give us something to salivate over until the film is released on December 18^TH, 2015. 

            I’m still skeptical.  But with “Star Trek” and “Star Trek Into Darkness,” Mr. Abrams did merge bright emotion and smooth special effects, creating two bombastically human adventures.  I hope he’ll achieve the same thing with “The Force Awakens.”  And either way, I’ll be there on opening day, ready to return to that galaxy far, far away once more.

Movie Review: "The Hunger Games: Mockingjay Part 1" (Francis Lawrence, 2014)

THE REVOLUTION WILL BE TELEVISED by Mo Shaunette

Above: Jennifer Lawrence stars in the penultimate "Hunger Games" film

 

To me, the “Hunger Games” film series has had a weird trajectory in relation to its source material (Suzanne Collins’ trilogy of dystopian novels).  The initial novel was the best of the three, a tight-paced action story with strong characterization and emotional focus from its narrator and protagonist, Katniss Everdeen.  Yet its movie adaptation suffered from cheap-looking production design, awkward pacing, and an insistence on using shaky-cam that made it into an action movie full of incomprehensible action.  By contrast, the second book, “Catching Fire,” fell short of the mark…while its movie adaptation turned out to be an improvement on its cinematic predecessor, a well-directed sequel that’s probably my favorite of the features so far.

So how does “Mockingjay Part 1” fare?  Well, let’s find out.

With her home destroyed, her friends captured, and her fake-boyfriend-turned-maybe-real-boyfriend Peeta Mellark (Josh Hutcherson) being used as a pro-government mouthpiece, Katniss (Jennifer Lawrence) agrees to be the voice of a national rebellion, as the titular Mockingjay.  However, for every statement and strike the rebels make, the malicious forces of the Capitol hit back harder, and it’s only a matter of time before the prisoners of war outlive their usefulness in this rising civil war.

The biggest flaw of “Mockingjay Part 1” is that addendum in the title, which betrays the truth—that the film adapts only half of the series’ final book.  For the most part, everything that happened in the first section of the book happens in the movie (plus a few new scenes which I’ll get to), but there isn’t enough meat in the story to make the film entirely work; it feels too stretched-out, too thin, and too slow-moving.

Problematically, the film also undermines the credibility of the rebellion. Without an overarching plan in place, its members seem to be making it up as they go along.  Their core idea (“use Katniss as propaganda figurehead”) is interesting, but they still seem entirely reactionary to the Capitol’s attacks.

Not that Capitol comes out looking great either; their forces include neither credible nor interesting villains.  Big bad President Snow (Donald Sutherland) seems like he’s more interested in screwing with Katniss’s head than actually squashing the rebellion (which he deals with through guns, bombs, and Peeta’s ongoing interviews).  More than that, Mr. Sutherland seems entirely bored with the character, who lounges in his upscale mansion and gives kill orders with the same enthusiasm one might use to order take-out.

The rest of the cast, thankfully, is game for anything.  Jennifer Lawrence still owns the role of Katniss and keeps pace with her more experienced co-stars like it’s nothing; Woody Harrelson and the late Phillip Seymour Hoffman bring charm and levity in their supporting roles; Elizabeth Banks manages to make her character’s vamping performance work without the over-the-top hair and make-up; and Mahershala Ali gives much-needed gravitas to Boggs, the chief of security at the rebel home base.

Still, in this vast ensemble, it’s Katniss who really matters.  The “Hunger Games” books were all written from her perspective and were focused on her emotional journey, with the series’ nightmarish world seen through her eyes.  But since movies never had a chance of pulling that off as well as books, they have opted to have Katniss share the spotlight with world building and the exploration of Panem, the bleak nation where the entire series unfolds.  The downside to this is clear: Panem isn’t that interesting of a world.  This destitute future just looks like someone left the 20th Century out in the rain, with nothing besides forests and ruined buildings to see.

Still, “Mockingjay Part 1” offers a mostly lively story.  Long story beats of Katniss and friends waiting in their bunker for the next thing to happen are broken up by acts of rebellion in other districts, which are well-directed and energetic enough to inject life back into the flick.  These scenes are particularly effective in a third act climax when a previously unseen rescue mission is intercut with Katniss’s fellow rebel Finnick (Sam Clafin) spilling all the dirty secrets he learned during his time in the Capitol.

The good parts of “Mockingjay Part 1” really are quite good.  But they’re spaced between long stretches of not much happening, while ideas and themes that have already sunk in by this point in the story play out yet again.  If you’re a fan of the series thus far, I’d say you’re in for some good times.  Otherwise, you’re probably better off waiting for the home video release.

Movie Review: "Nightcrawler" (Dan Gilroy, 2014)

HE SEES DEAD PEOPLE by Bennett Campbell Ferguson

Above: Jake Gyllenhaal as the titular nightcrawler

 

It’s night in Los Angeles.  A small, greasy-haired man is trying to tear some metal off a chain link fence…when a security guard steps out of the darkness, demanding to see some identification.  “I think I’m lost,” the man explains.  Then, he hits the guard and leaves him lying there, unconscious on the ground.

            So begins “Nightcrawler,” a clear-eyed, oily-hearted look into the life of the hitter in question, Lou Bloom (Jake Gyllenhaal).  When we first meet him, he’s a thief who gets by selling stolen manhole covers and metal scraps.  But when Lou sees a TV camera crew filming a car accident, his fate is assured.  Starved for work and money, he buys a camera and starts patrolling the city, gathering footage of accidents and crimes that he can sell to the highest bidder.

            Not a pleasant story.  “Nightcrawler” is the directorial debut of writer Dan Gilroy (“The Bourne Legacy”) and while his visuals are as clean and sleek as a televised weather report, the core of his movie is twisted and queasy.  There’s no one to root for; Mr. Gilroy may spin Lou as an outsider in the world of “nightcrawlers” (Lou’s macho, hackneyed rival is played by Bill Paxton), but that narrative strategy invites only a modicum of sympathy for Mr. Gyllenhaal’s leering pipsqueak.  Lou, with his creepily eager eyes and high-pitched speeches about business and success, seems not just morally bankrupt, but genuinely evil.

            If you don’t believe me, wait until you see what happens when Lou becomes not only a voyeur, but a murderer.  By then, it becomes apparent that there are no shades of gray to this guy, and that’s the film’s biggest problem.  “Nightcrawler” may purport to be an exposé of contemporary media, but it refuses probe Lou’s psyche, even as it clings to his story like a hungry mosquito.  The result?  A movie that, with its obsessive focus on Lou’s disturbing behavior, embodies the very spirit of the shallow, exploitive television reports it attempts to critique.  

            That doesn’t mean that “Nightcrawler” is a waste of time—far from it.  Because while Mr. Gilroy’s critique of television reporting is flimsy at best, his commentary on the twenty-first century American psyche has genuine bite.  Just watch the early scene when Lou reflects on his education, saying that school taught him to expect “his needs to be considered.”  Fair enough, except he then explains that he now knows that self-esteem is irrelevant—that he needs to make money and he’s willing to do whatever it takes.

            That moment resonated with me more than anything else in the film.  School protects you from the world as much as it prepares you for it, and the most compellingly freakish idea in “Nightcrawler” is that Lou ultimately takes another route—he learns to interact with station managers and newscasters though online business courses that allow him to sound like he knows what he’s talking about.  The terrifying result?  That by the end, he’s become a mini-entrepreneur.  “I will never ask you to do anything I wouldn’t do myself,” he proudly tells his new employees near the film’s end.

            Yikes.

List: 18 Great Sci-Fi Movies

LOOKING TO THE FUTURE by Bennett Campbell Ferguson

Above: Ken Watanabe and Marion Cotillard in Chistopher Nolan's "Inception"

 

“Pacific Rim.”  “Gravity.”  “Her.”  “Interstellar.”  If those films and the past two years have shown us everything, it’s that science fiction—with its uncanny blend of majestic spectacle and uneasy allegory—remains one of the richest genres in cinema.  Sure, it’s made many contributions to Hollywood’s collective trash can (“Elysium,” anybody?), but it’s also opened new avenues of thought and feeling, in visual, intellectual, and emotional terms.

            You know what’s next.  With “Interstellar” rocketing across screens worldwide and “The Martian” and “Star Wars: Episode VII—The Force Awakens” already waiting in the wings, he’s something to start the debate—a list of my favorite science fiction movies.

“Ender’s Game” (Gavin Hood, 2013)

“The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy” (Garth Jennings, 2005)

“Inception” (Christopher Nolan, 2010)

“Interstellar” (Christopher Nolan, 2014)

“Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan” (Nicholas Meyer, 1982)

“Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home” (Leonard Nimoy, 1986)

“Star Trek VI: The Undiscovered Country” (Nicholas Meyer, 1991)

“Star Trek: First Contact” (Jonathan Frakes, 1996)

“Star Trek: Insurrection” (Jonathan Frakes, 1998)

“Star Trek” (J.J. Abrams, 2009)

“Star Trek Into Darkness” (J.J. Abrams, 2013)

“Star Wars” (George Lucas, 1977)

“The Empire Strikes Back” (Irvin Kershner, 1980)

“Return of the Jedi” (Richard Marquand, (1983)

“WALL-E” (Andrew Stanton, 2008)

“X-Men” (Bryan Singer, 2000)

 “X2” (Bryan Singer, 2003)

“X-Men Origins: Wolverine” (Gavin Hood, 2009)

Movie Review: "Birdman" (Alejandro G. Iñárritu, 2014)

TAILSPIN by Bennett Campbell Ferguson

Above: The specter of Birdman haunts Riggan (Michael Keaton) in Mr. Iñárritu's film

 

Alejandro G. Iñárritu’s new movie “Birdman” takes place in a Broadway theater—a maze of cramped, near-vertical passages and one extremely messy stage.  It’s where actor Riggan Thomson (Michael Keaton) has decided to engineer his rebirth.  Once, he was a washed-up superhero actor (best known for playing this film’s titular crime-fighter); now, if he can access some emotional truth and sheer luck, he just might be able to redeem himself in a dutifully serious play based on Raymond Carver’s story “What We Talk About When We Talk About Love.”

            If you want to draw some meaning from this comedic backstage drama, you’d be better off working on the crew of an actual theater production.  “Birdman” may be meticulously crafted, but it’s also strangely muted—amusing when it means to be funny and indifferent when it tries to be touching.  I enjoyed much of the film but in the end, it felt more like a chore than a cinematic experience—a determinedly weird work that tries (and never quite manages) to express something about loss, fame, family, and the absurdity of art in any form. 

            Edward Norton is a different matter.  He plays Mike Shiner, a slick, temperamental method actor who joins the play just days before opening night.  This is the movie’s injection of necessary conflict—since the play is Riggan’s last chance at success, Mr. Iñárritu complicates it frantically by making Mike as psychotic as possible, turning him into a spindly, pompadoured fly in the ointment of Riggan’s misguided opus. 

            It’s thanks to Mr. Norton’s performance that “Birdman” bursts to life as often as it does.  “I pretend everywhere except onstage,” Mike confesses with rueful cool, but Mr. Norton’s performance belies that remark.  In Mike’s first scene, he stands erect, a neat porkpie hat (like the one he wore in “The Illusionist,” but gray) adding to his impeccable height.  But in more casual, rooftop conversations with Riggan’s daughter Sam (Emma Stone), Mr. Norton allows Mike to be slumped, and maybe even sincere. 

            Those chats have a quiet, almost theatrical nature.  And that’s a compliment, by the way; movies may be my preferred medium, but I still love the moment in every play when the applause dies away, leaving the actors to stand and speak their lines to a silent audience.  It’s when you (and hopefully they) get lost in the moment and “Birdman” wants you to get lost too.  Hence Mr. Iñárritu’s determination to strip away some of film’s poetic artifice by creating a movie that feels as if it were hectically captured by a documentary cameraman (the transcendentally talented cinematographer Emmanuel Lubezki shot the entire film in long, jittery takes, providing a rough, fly-on-the- wall perspective).

            The vibrant realism of “Birdman” is crucial, because it heaves potently against the film’s lapses into semi-fantastical visions of Riggan floating, held aloft by invisible wires of hope and ego.  The problem is that while these images are memorable, Riggan himself is not.  He may talk fast, but what is he?  Just another washed-up celebrity who never spent enough time with his family.  In other words, he embodies the increasingly tired cliché of the worn-out superstar, an archetype that can only be enlivened by the two things that “Birdman” lacks—the fascinatingly ludicrous depravity of “The Wolf of Wall Street” and the clear, seeping emotion of “Lost in Translation.”

            Does that mean that you shouldn’t see “Birdman”?  Not necessarily.  To Mr. Iñárritu’s credit, he’s made a fully-formed, creatively uncompromising work.  And whether or not viewers embrace it will say as much about them as it will about this undeniably provocative filmmaker (who memorably shredded the 2006 Oscar season with his uneven and jarring global drama “Babel”). 

Yet the nastily surreal finale of “Birdman” suggests what I probably should have suspected all along—that Mr. Iñárritu’s film is a stiffly engineered art piece, rather than a lived-in, need-to-tell-the-world story.  In the end, like Riggan, Mr. Iñárritu doesn’t know how to talk about love.

Movie Review: "Interstellar" (Christopher Nolan, 2014)

FAR FROM GROUND CONTROL by Bennett Campbell Ferguson

Above: Anne Hathaway co-stars in Mr. Nolan's latest philosophical blockbuster

 

“What?”  That one, simple word floated through my mind as soon as the last credits rolled for Christopher Nolan’s new space saga, “Interstellar.”  True, I had a few concrete thoughts about the movie.  I knew I didn’t love it as passionately as my favorite Nolan pictures (“The Dark Knight Rises” and “Inception,” thank you very much); and I knew that I was intrigued by the film’s bombastic marriage of human hope and grimy special effects. 

But mostly, I was just baffled.  What had I just watched?  What was this strange mixture of science and sentimentality from one of my most beloved role models?  Thus, with the caveat of uncertainty, I will try to review “Interstellar.”  But be warned—I can’t yet claim to fully understand the movie.  In fact, already I’m feeling the urge to revisit it, in order to better figure out how I feel about it.

From the beginning, it’s clear that this is a film a few dusty meters outside Mr. Nolan’s wheelhouse.  Usually, he throws us into his poetically-charged visions without the nicety of opening credits; here, the word “Interstellar” is printed neatly in Times New Roman over the movie’s opening shot—an image of a toy space ship, sitting on a dirty book shelf.

The toy belongs to Cooper (Matthew McConaghey), a reluctant farmer living sometime in the future.  It’s not a happy era—the world is hemorrhaging food and supplies, leaving the remaining humans spend their days harvesting corn (a lucky few get to go to college).  Hence Cooper’s plight—he once worked for NASA, but now has nothing left to do but prime the grubby, red-painted machines that keep his family’s farm running.

Needless to say, that’s not the whole movie.  Never one to let too much screen time pass without the crash of action, Mr. Nolan sends Cooper and his daughter Murph (MacKenzie Foy) on a careening chase through the corn fields, then follows them as they make a startling discovery—that in secret, NASA is looking for life-friendly planets beyond Earth.  And so, soon (perhaps too soon in the story) Cooper leaves his family and blasts into space, from a rocket to a space station to a wormhole, one that leads him and his astronaut compatriot Brand (Anne Hathaway) to an entirely different galaxy.

It’s a rough journey.  Mr. Nolan once spoke of how he likes to disregard science and make up his own reality rules for his movies.  But on “Interstellar,” he worked with scientist Kip Thorne, which might explain the often incoherent banter about gravity, time, and mechanics exchanged between Cooper and Brand.  Mr. Nolan was fine concocting self-contained, fictional parameters for dream sharing in “Inception.”  But in “Interstellar,” his attempts to interweave real math and physics into an elegant spectacle feels ever so off the mark.

Which isn’t to say that “Interstellar” is a dry, text book-like work of art.  Au contraire—if anything, the movie is too emotional.  The scene where Cooper leaves Murph is interesting (“Don’t let me leave like this,” he says to his angry daughter, sounding almost angry himself).  But did there have to be so many scenes of characters sobbing loudly over the dismal fate of Earth?  Maybe, but I found the film’s deluge of tears depressing nonetheless.

And yet…there’s something about “Interstellar.”  For one thing, there’s Hans Zimmer’s score, with its blasting, tinkling organ that sounds like the engine of some loudly graceful, yet to be invented piece of machinery.  And then there’s a strange, satisfyingly complicated sequence featuring a cameo from a certain square-jawed, soulfully sincere American actor.  I won’t spoil it for you if you haven’t heard he’s in the movie, but I will say this—in his brief scenes, he packs in enough compassion and frailty for an army of vivid characters.

The scene in question takes place on an ice planet, one thick with steep slopes and crusty clouds.  It’s a visually wondrous world, and visuals are among the greatest achievements of “Interstellar.”  The film’s spaceships have a nicely rough texture (yes, Mr. Nolan used real models), though it’s ultimately the non-physical that steals the show.  The climax, in which Cooper drifts through a celestial, book-filled labyrinth, turns your sense of direction in circles and sideways, leaving you floating and dizzy, as if you’ve been elevated from your seat and into the movie’s cosmic layers.

In more ways than one, that beautifully weird sequence sums up what “Interstellar” is about.  Cooper, looping through a world he could have never imagined, is seeing things that no other human has glimpsed, fulfilling his promise to become a great explorer.  Which is what Mr. Nolan’s film is really about—exploration.  The mission to save Earth and humanity may be what drives Cooper and company, but the film’s final scene (in which a lone astronaut makes camp on a deserted alien world) suggests that the search, the quest, is meaningful in itself. 

You should see “Interstellar” for that (and many other) otherworldly, thought-provoking moments.  But I don’t think the film’s going to inspire conversations about space and time, or even its characters (who aren’t quite as complex as Mr. Nolan tries to make them).  Instead, I think we’ll all end up discussing the movie itself—its gloominess, its optimism, its obsession with the color white (Cooper and friends’ spacesuits match that ice planet), and its unsettling, yet somehow sweet conclusion. 

In other words, you should heed the words of another science fiction opus: the human adventure is just beginning.

Movie Review: "The Book of Life" (Jorge R. Gutierrez, 2014)

THE GRATEFUL DEAD by Mo Shaunette

Above: The animated cast of "The Book of Life"

 

There’s a memorable moment in Marvel’s “Guardians of the Galaxy” when, after breaking out of jail and recovering his precious walkman, Peter Quill celebrates by flying through the void of space on his rocket boots, listening to “Escape (The Piña Colada Song)” by Rupert Holmes.  I bring this up because I thought that it would be the strangest musical moment I’d see in 2014. 

Yet the new animated film “The Book of Life” proved me wrong with an utterly bizarre moment when the main character’s angst at failing to earn the affections of his true love is expressed by him singing, of all things, “Creep” by Radiohead.  I don’t know if the filmmakers wanted older viewers to take this seriously or what, but I was damn near rolling in the aisles when it happened.  The song choice was totally out of left field and, to its credit, absolutely unforgettable.

            The singer of this song is Manolo Sanchez (Diego Luna), who would rather play guitar than follow his family’s tradition and become a bullfighter; his aforementioned love is Maria Posada (Zoe Saldana), a gentle soul who is also loved by Manolo’s childhood friend, the heroic soldier Joaquin (Channing Tatum).  Little do Manolo and Joaquin know that they’re both pawns of the rulers of the Lands of the Dead, La Muerte (Katie del Castillo) and Xibalba (Ron Perlman).  These two have a wager going over which of the suitors will marry Maria and when Xibalba cheats and has Manolo killed, the musical matador must team up with the spirits of his family to escape the Underworld, prove his love, and save his town from a gang of vicious banditos.

            It’s rare that a mainstream animated feature goes for a look outside of the Pixar/DreamWorks aesthetic, but “The Book of Life” does something unique and beautiful.  The designs of the locales are like Mexican artwork brought to stunning life, with the film’s Land of the Remembered being particularly vibrant, like a Day of the Dead-themed level in Super Mario Land; the characters are drawn in an exaggerated, Bruce Timm-esque style that makes them recognizable and memorable; and the movement of the characters and their surroundings is fluid and cool, making the movie’s mix of slapstick and action fast-paced and engaging.  Director and co-writer Jorge R. Gutierrez and the animators at Reel FX Creative Studios have really made something special here.

            The script is solid too; “The Book of Life” is certainly a fun action-adventure piece that holds your attention.  Yet it isn’t quite as unconventional as it wants to be and its use of music doesn’t always hit the mark.  The soundtrack is an odd mixture of pop hits, some of which fit snugly into the narrative (“Can’t Help Falling in Love with You” by Elvis Presley), some of which raise an eyebrow (“I Will Wait” by Mumford and Sons), some of which are as strange as the aforementioned “Creep,” and some of which are original songs.  They’re all done in a mariachi style, which helps some of them but hurts others.  

            Still, “The Book of Life” has an edge over other animated features, not just because of its visual style, but because it’s also a fun and engaging look at another culture.  It’s rare that we get a wide-release feature is this off the beaten path, but this one hit home for me.  The movie is funny, energetic, and looks sublime.  Go check it out, and hopefully, we’ll get more like it.

"John Wick" (David Leitch and Chad Stahelski, 2014)

ONE, TWO, JOHN WICK’S COMING FOR YOU by Mo Shaunette

Above: Keanu Reeves as the notorious John Wick

 

On a rooftop in New York, in the wee hours of the morning, feared mob boss Viggo Tarasov (Michael Nyqvist) makes a threatening call to chop shop owner Aurelio (John Leguizamo) regarding a past grievance.

“I’m told you struck my son,” Viggo says.

“Yes I did, sir,” Aurelio admits.

“Why?” Viggo asks.

“Uh, because he stole John Wick’s car, sir, and he killed his dog.”

“…oh,” Viggo says. He then hangs up the phone.

I could probably go into a more detailed synopsis, but that exchange pretty much sums up the bullet points.  John Wick (Keanu Reeves) is a retired hit man so dangerous that he’s known as “the Boogeyman.”  Now, his ’69 Mustang is gone, his beagle is dead, and he’s on a rip-roaring rampage of revenge against the punk kid (Alfie Allen) responsible.  And no amount of goons, mooks, thugs, or hired killers is going to stop him.

“John Wick” is the directorial debut of stuntmen/coordinators Chad Stahelski and David Leitch, who manage to pull off a stylized action flick in the vein of “Drive” or “Looper.”  What’s interesting about it is how different the before and after of John’s life are.  His retirement in suburban New Jersey is shot with a blue-gray filter, quick-cut editing, and almost no score at all.  Then, things kick into high gear once John returns to his old gangster haunts, which are infused with lush colors, lurid music, and more deliberate, measured shots.  Appropriately, the fight scenes are fast-paced and energetic, with John shooting and stabbing (but mostly shooting) his way through every bad guy in the Russian mob with ruthless efficiency.  He knows how his enemies fight, he knows how to counter them, and Mr. Reeves makes you believe this is a man to be feared.

The supporting cast is an interesting mix of familiar character actors.  New York’s underbelly is populated by people like Willem Dafoe, Ian McShane, Dean Winters, Adrianne Palicki, Lance Reddick, and the aforementioned Messrs. Nyqvist, Leguizamo, and Allen, who all elevate the roles that are written in Derek Kolstad’s script.  However, the star of the show is Mr. Reeves, who comes off as very capable as the titular character.  His…shall we say, “subdued” style of acting works perfectly for Wick as he drifts disaffected through retirement after his wife’s death until events force him to wake up and be a human being again.

“John Wick” is unlikely to change anyone’s life.  For all its flourishes, the story isn’t revolutionary and you’d be forgiven for describing it as being paced like a video game (the final “boss fight” against Viggo has Wick shooting bad guys from behind the wheel of a muscle car like he’s playing “Grand Theft Auto”).  But it’s a fun little action romp and a good first outing for new directors.

There are worse ways to spend 101 minutes.