Movie Review: "X-Men Origins: Wolverine" (Gavin Hood, 2009)

REMEMBER THE ORIGIN by Bennett Campbell Ferguson

 

Above: Hugh Jackman as Logan

 

In the opening scene of Gavin Hood’s “X-Men Origins: Wolverine,” we see two young brothers, Logan and Victor, running away from home, racing through a shadowy forest.  “Keep running,” Victor calls out.  “Don’t look back.”  And as if to seal the momentousness of the moment, Harry Gregson-Williams’ score rises on the soundtrack, a crescendo of violent drums, grating cellos, and anguished voices, crying through the trees.

Thus, the terms are set—not only for Logan and Victor’s friendship, but for one of the greatest action films of all time.  An unpopular perspective?  Of course; “Wolverine” is one of the worst-reviewed blockbusters in recent memory.  But like Mr. Hood’s recent masterpiece, “Ender’s Game,” this movie is rough, crude, violent, soap operatic, and outraged—in other words, irrevocably and exhilaratingly alive.

            At the core of this cinematic maelstrom is a battle between compassion and savagery.  “That’s enough!” a grown-up Logan (Hugh Jackman) roars as Victor (now played by Liev Schreiber) takes aim at a swath of soldiers.  But for Victor, it’s never enough—he’s an actual natural-born killer, a man whose life depends on constantly feeding his bloodlust.

            And so Logan and Victor find themselves hunted and hated.  They are, after all, mutants—super-powered beings (both have the ability to heal rapidly and pop wolf-like claws out of their hands) who are considered freaks by society.  But to the svelte military scientist William Stryker (Danny Huston), Logan and Victor’s freakishness is a weapon made to be used, a perfect addition to his private (and illegal) strike force. 

            In Campellian terms, the moment when the sunglasses-wearing Stryker appears in Logan and Victor’s prison cell is a “call to adventure.”  Yet “Wolverine” is not a traditional hero’s journey—instead of being beckoned to join a glorious quest, Logan is asked to aid a man who is an immoral government renegade.  That’s why the movie ruptures into a duel of instincts, with Logan fighting to curb his desire to hunt and kill and Stryker attempting to use those very qualities to his own advantage.

            A grim storyline, to say the least.  But that’s why I love “Wolverine.”  As a moviegoer, I’ve grown sick of aggressively one-dimensional fun—far too many twenty-first century blockbusters exist solely to charm and pander (rather than actually move or entertain).  By contrast, “Wolverine” is a determinedly brutal and tragic epic that spans as many agonized emotional outbursts as it does continents (Logan’s journey takes him to Canada, Nigeria, and, finally, the infamous Three Mile Island). 

There’s also Mr. Hood, whose finesse as a visual storyteller ensures that the death and destruction endured (and sometimes caused) by Logan don’t suffocate the movie’s visceral joys.  Indeed, Mr. Hood summons forth scenes of vicious beauty, from a graceful sojourn in the Rocky Mountains to a gravity-defying battle on the streets of New Orleans that is equal parts vulnerable rage and gloriously macho theatrics.

            Much of those come from Mr. Jackman and his uncanny ability to be at once tender and feral.  Which is perfect, because Logan is more than just a man and “Wolverine” is more than just a film—it’s a prequel to the “X-Men” series, in which Logan joins a more-noble super team. 

And yet in one of the last scenes of “Wolverine,” Logan’s heroism does take root, when he sees rows of cages where Stryker has imprisoned countless mutant children.  Transfixed by the sight of these frightening and helpless kids, Logan stares for a moment…but only a moment, one that’s broken when he unsheathes his claws and Mr. Gregson-Williams’ music revs up again, barreling forward as a growling Logan shatters the locks to the cells, freeing the captive children.

            I’ll never forget the first time I saw that scene.  I was amazed that in this dark world, there could be hope, that Logan could somehow save the innocent victims of Stryker’s cruelty, giving them a chance to run free as he once did.  So yes, the world of “Wolverine” is a dark one.  But it is punctured by small acts of goodness that blaze like the light of Mr. Jackman’s eyes, staring out into dark summer theaters.

Fall 2014 Movie Preview

CELLULOID CRYSTAL GAZING by Bennett Campbell Ferguson

Above: Emma Stone in "Birdman," which opens in October

 

Predicting the film industry’s future is a tremulous business.  Yet the coming awards season, brimming with movies eager to dominate the Oscars (or maybe even our conversations), is rife with intriguing trends.  For one, many of these films cling to done-to-death topics (like World War II and the threat of dystopia), while others promise transport to unvisited, thought-provoking territory.  

            In the former category are heroic tales like David Ayer’s “Fury” and Angelina Jolie’s “Unbroken,” which (barring a serious third act shocker) have no intention of sullying the niceties of history with invention or ambiguity.  But what about Morten Tyldum’s “The Imitation Game”?  On the surface, it looks considerably more complex. 

The movie’s focus is Alan Turing (Benedict Cumberbatch, whose lordly charisma begs for such meaty roles), the famed mathematician who decoded Nazi transmissions…and was later shamed and tortured for being gay.  Why film this story?  Because it was a chance for Mr. Tyldum to revisit history, yet hit on something new—the way a hypocritical society can turn on the very people who have fought to preserve it.

            That “The Imitation Game” will earn at seat at the Oscars seems inevitable (especially since it won the oft-premonitory Audience Award at the Toronto Film Festival); whether it will be a stylistically radical movie is still questionable.  And that’s the quandary that’s plagued 2014’s higher brow and art house offerings—for every “Locke” that subverts convention (by funneling its narrative through the interior of a BMV), there’s an “Obvious Child” that only flirts with artistic defiance.  Yes, Gillian Robespierre’s movie allows its heroine to dodge cinematic convention by having an abortion, but the film still plays to expected romance movie formulas.

Yet there is one eccentric-looking feature poised to challenge the myths of society and pop culture—and possibly revive Michael Keaton’s career.  I am speaking, of course, of “Birdman.”  Already, there are whispers that the film (which assays the misfortunes of a former superhero actor) could be a contender and in hindsight, it seems ridiculous to have thought that it would be anything other than revolutionary. 

After all, what’s riper for savvy indie satire than superheroes?  “Captain America: The Winter Soldier” and “X-Men: Days of Future Past” may have been showcases for elegant (and politically relevant) genre filmmaking, but “The Amazing Spider-Man 2” and “Guardians of the Galaxy” both represented the superhero genre at its worst—bloated and grotesquely smug in its ability to entertain.  In other words, superhero movies have earned a smack, and the knowingly ludicrous “Birdman” (with its fascinatingly mismatched cast—Norton, Stone, Galifianakis, and more) might be the right movie to deliver it.

Perhaps, though, none of this matters.  I haven’t seen any of these movies; for all I know, “The Imitation Game” is a wrenchingly emotional masterpiece and “Birdman” is the more tepid work.  But what about the giddy joy of looking ahead?  Why not try to envision the zany intrigue of “Inherent Vice”?  The rasping creepiness of Steve Carrel in “Foxcatcher”?  The cosmic, far-reaching vistas of Christopher Nolan’s “Interstellar”?

I, for one, intend to salivate—until I buy my tickets and the party begins.

Movie Review: "Magic in the Moonlight" (Woody Allen, 2014)

LIGHT MAGIC by Bennett Campbell Ferguson

 

 

 

Left: "Magic" stars Colin Firth and Emma Stone

 

 

 

“I don’t think he means to imply that your mother and brother are morons.”  So says Howard Burkan (Simon McBurney) of his friend Stanley Crawford (Colin Firth) in “Magic in the Moonlight.”  But he’s quite wrong.  Stanley—cantankerous and always gleefully snobbish—loves offending everyone.  He may be 1920s stage magician, but he prefers giddy cynicism to well-coifed charm. 

            Which makes Stanley a perfect avatar for Woody Allen, who directed the film from his own screenplay.  Mr. Allen’s characters (especially the ones he plays himself) are often antsy skeptics, though “Magic in the Moonlight” isn’t as richly entertaining as his previous forays into the world of stage gimmickry (“The Curse of the Jade Scorpion” and “Scoop”).  No, this is Allen light—listless, airy, and amusing.

            What life force the movie does possess is derived from a strange complication—Howard’s request that Stanley debunk the antics of the young American spiritualist named Sophie Baker (Emma Stone).  Wide-eyed and awestruck, Sophie reads minds and even communicates with the dead, though Stanley isn’t fooled.  He just wants to expose Sophie’s adorable charlatanism and get back to London.

            There’s a zesty energy to Stanley’s needling of Sophie, particularly during the scenes when he snidely asks her to probe his thoughts.  Ultimately, however, that all fades as the movie slops into pudding-flavored romance, which isn’t convincing for a minute.  “I just want to hold her in my arms,” Stanley says after Sophie’s peppery serenity finally wears through his grumpy armor.  But despite Mr. Firth’s impeccable delivery, he can’t make us believe that someone as cranky as Stanley could change so drastically.

            Still, you could have done a lot worse at the multiplexes this summer.  Mr. Allen may let the fizz drain out of the plot once Stanley falls for Sophie (he should have let their sparring continue, to fuel both the conflict and the comedy), but the film’s South of France setting is captured with soft-focused beauty (by the gifted cinematographer Darius Khonji) and the movie’s debate between cheeky atheism and wide-eyed wonder makes its more resonant than you’d expect it to be.

            Best of all, “Magic in the Moonlight” is a fine showcase for Mr. Firth.  He makes a great comedic buffoon, but he has something else—a nervy vitality that keeps the movie on its toes.  “Come with me,” Stanley demands when he tells Sophie he’s going to visit his aunt.  Hardly a provocative proposal, but Mr. Firth’s suave energy makes it seem vibrantly seductive, even if most of the movie isn’t. 

Movie Review: "The One I Love" (Charlie McDowell, 2014)

THE ONE I LO—WAIT!  WHAT? by Maxwell Meyers        

 Above: Elizabeth Moss and Mark Duplass confront a mind-bending mystery

 

Who doesn't love a challenge?  I know I don't always, but every once in a while I like to face powerful and difficult movies like “Boyhood” (which is amazing—if you haven't seen it, do yourself a favor and get out and watch it immediately).  Or director Charlie McDowell’s indie romance “The One I Love.”

Having seen the film’s trailer, I knew going in that the movie was about a couple going on vacation together to fix their relationship.  The premise seemed simple enough, but every review I read mentioned a twist that made the film is nearly un-reviewable.  Challenge accepted.  I, Maxwell Meyers, will attempt to review the un-reviewable without resorting to spoilers.

            What can I reveal?  For starters, that “The One I Love” is definitely one of the more interesting movies I’ve seen this year.  I had no idea what I was getting into when I bought my ticket, but I laughed and was confused for most of the movie—in the best possible way (and it's not often you can be baffled for the majority of a film that doesn't feature someone dying in a mysterious way—and leave happy about it).

            The plot—Mark Duplass and Elisabeth Moss star as Ethan and Sophie, who, after meeting with a therapist played by Ted Danson (that's the entirety of the cast, by the way) journey to a vacation house, where they hope to mend their fractured relationship.  At first, all seems well—the house they pick is gorgeous, unoccupied, and even has a pool. 

But after their first there, Sophie wanders out to the guest house and things get strange, leading to a mystery that keeps you guessing up until the last minutes of the film.

            It’s thanks to the cast and crew of “The One I Love” that this story is engaging rather than infuriating.  Mr. Duplass and Ms. Moss give great, multi-layered performances; Mr. McDowell stages some superb shots of Ethan alone and of the property; and the writing, brought to you by Justin Lader (who also executive produced), brings you into this strange story—and the hearts of two people who love each other, yet have trouble connecting.  In fact, the movie and its myriad twists and turns are so compelling that while watching it unfold, I found myself putting me and my partner into this couple’s position, and wondering how we would handle a similar situation.  

            So, while reviewing “The One I Love” is difficult, it is a film worth talking about—and any movie worth talking about, in my personal opinion, is worth seeing.  I would give this movie a solid B+; it does almost everything right, and my only real concern is the ending (which is not entirely satisfying).  I don't know if “The One I Love” will fall in the pantheon of films that are remembered until the end of time, but it is definitely one that moviegoers will be talking about for years to come.

            Also, the film is playing on-demand right know, and sometimes there is nothing nicer than a movie night in.  

Movie Review: "The Trip to Italy" (Michael Winterbottom, 2014)

AND THEN THEY STUMBLED by Bennett Cambell Ferguson

Above: The return of Steve and Rob

 

It’s been three years since Michael Winterbottom’s pseudo-factual road movie “The Trip” lightly swerved through America’s cineplexes.  And yet, it’s easy to count it among the most deliciously witty endeavors of modern cinema.  Two mischievously cool actors (Steve Coogan and Rob Brydon) portraying themselves on a tour of Britain’s finest cuisine?  Yes, please.

            Ostensibly, “The Trip to Italy” offers much of the same—another culinary vacation (this time the boot-shaped nation of title) and another round goodhearted humor (chiefly centered around Mr. Coogan and Brydon’s reliably amusing celebrity impersonations).  Yet this time, something feels off.  The formula of this would-be franchise may be intact, but there’s a strange lack of conflict between its leads this time around, counterpointed by uneasy emotional undercurrents that coarsen the pleasure of seeing two delightful performers at play in a beauteous landscape.

At first, all seems to be well.  In the opening scene, Mr. Coogan awakens to a phone call from Mr. Brydon, inviting him on another restaurant tour to be taken at the behest of The Observer (our heroes are only mildly perturbed by the fact that they know next to nothing about food).  And soon, before we can even gather our anticipation, they’re there in Italy, feasting on ravioli and delighting in their secret passion for the music of Alanis Morissette.

Which is all fine.  Except while Mr. Brydon remains as cheekily energetic as ever, Mr. Coogan’s performance here is disappointingly relaxed.  In the original “Trip,” what made him to compelling was his decision to play himself as a ferociously egotistical actor with massive chip on his shoulder.  That fictional Coogan never rested on the laurels of his hit television show “Alan Partridge”—for him, success was never enough, though he certainly felt he deserved it (as evidenced by a perfect moment when he suavely rearranged his hair for a photo shoot).

That approach was nastily clever (especially since it clashed so neatly with Mr. Brydon’s easy contentment).  Yet in “The Trip to Italy,” both actors seem calmly conceited.  Gone is the Steve Coogan who once badgered a museum docent nastily and ended up alone in empty apartment; this fellow is jovial, content to sit back and laugh at Rob Brydon’s impersonations of the various James Bonds.

Yet there is another, more unsettling flaw in the movie’s matrix.  In their storytelling, the “Trip” films occupy a strange space—they’re fiction and yet because Mr. Coogan and Mr.  Brydon are acting based on their own personalities (they improvised much of the dialogue for both films), the movies seem to offer a kind of truth.  Which is why one of the most moving scenes in the first “Trip” was when, at the close of our heroes’ vacation, Mr. Brydon came home to trade witticisms with his wife.  In that moment, I loved and cared about both of them, and I remembered it in “The Trip to Italy”…when Mr. Brydon sleeps with a young woman he meets on a boat.

I get it—Rob Brydon didn’t actually have an affair.  But how can you relax and enjoy the comedy when a character you’ve come to care about is being betrayed?  The infidelity tempers the movie’s joy, and it’s only when Mr. Brydon starts pretending to interview Michael Bublé that some of the hidden nastiness is finally alleviated.

I don’t want to undersell Mr. Winterbottom’s movie.  “The Trip to Italy” is often charming (especially once the Alanis sing-a-longs commence in the duo’s rented Mini Cooper).  But this sequel doesn’t feel as pleasant or as resonant as its predecessor.  And despite cinematographer James Clarke’s smooth shots of hotels and sunny ocean waves, an aura of nagging dissatisfaction settles in over an otherwise pleasant journey.

Movie Review: "Frank" (Lenny Abrahamson, 2014)

THE HEAD BECOMES HIM by Bennett Campbell Ferguson

Above: Michael Fassbender (yes, really) in "Frank"

 

Cold, cruel eyes; a joyous and scary smile; and an icy, metallic voice.  There is nothing about Michael Fassbender that is not magnetic—every step he takes and every sound he puts forth thrillingly throttles the movies he performs in.  But in “Frank,” he has topped himself by doing the seemingly impossible—needling wit, remorse, and humanity into in a man who literally hides behind a mask.

            But more on that later.  “Frank” (a tender black comedy directed by Lenny Abrahamson) is inaugurated not by its titular personality, but by Jon (Domhnall Gleeson), a young office drone who lives at home but fancies himself a rock star in the making.  What savage luck for him, then, when the keyboardist for the local band Sonprofrbs (yes, that’s their name) attempts to drown himself, leaving a blank slot that Jon is more than eager to fill.

            Needless to say, nothing goes according to plan.  The music of Sonprofrbs may be wondrously absurd (their lyrics find intricacy in topics as unlikely as carpet fuzz), but their ranks are comprised of obnoxious, even violent characters.  And that’s to say nothing of Frank, who leads them on artistic journeys of discovery without ever removing his most prized possession—a fake, paper mache head.

            Already, this premise has invited snickers of bafflement.  Yet what gives “Frank” its gentle power is its straightforwardness.  Mr. Abrahamson regards the film’s most brutal incidents (including a scene where Jon is stabbed in the leg) with naughty amusement, but the movie’s imagery never becomes as eccentric as its characters.  Instead, Mr. Abrahamson (and his cinematographer, James Mather) keeps each shot calm and still—so Frank and company can flail about, thrusting their madness upon a seemingly sane world.

            To that end, the movie’s final act shifts from the cozy cabin the band calls home to the Texas musical festival South by Southwest—where Jon hopes Sonprofrbs will achieve the fame he’s always wanted for himself.  “Hello, South by Southwest!” he shouts gleefully when he and Frank finally take to the stage.  But what Jon fails to understand is that Frank and company aren’t meant to be in the midst of such roaring spectacle—they’re at their best and happiest cooped up in that cabin, making music with sticks, water, and anything else they can find.

            Part of the film is about how that Eden of creativity is undone.  Yet there’s still hope to be found within “Frank.”  “I love you all,” Frank sings in the film’s final scene.  In that moment, Mr. Fassbender’s tearful eyes shine with anguish and compassion, and it’s a life-giving to see such a wonderful artist unmasked, as if reborn. 

Still, I’m not about to forget the scenes Mr. Fassbender performs under that outrageous head, or the way he moves when wears it—stiffly yet nimbly, always ready to sing or strum or even, on occasion, dance.

Essay: The Moral Ambiguity of the "Star Wars" Trilogy

BEYOND GOOD AND EVIL by Bennett Campbell Ferguson

Above: Mark Hamill as Luke Skywalker

 

There is a moment in “Star Wars” (1977) when the young farmer Luke Skywalker (Mark Hamill) stares at the sunset, his hair blowing in the desert wind.  A memorable moment to be sure, but what’s Luke thinking?  Is he perhaps longing for adventure?  Or is it something deeper?  Some primal need to wander, to be free, to journey into space?

            The original “Star Wars” trilogy (which includes also includes “The Empire Strikes Back” and “Return of the Jedi”) is, in many ways, about those pursuits.  Yet though the films are packed with spaceship battles and laser bursts, they do not present a mere war of good versus evil.  In fact, as Luke matures, so too does the series, morphing from a simple tale of heroes and villains to a sober chronicle of sadness and shades of gray.  And it is through that transformation that we see Luke grow from a naïve boy to a whiny warrior to a stoic hero, wise to the world’s complexities and devastated by them.

            It’s light years from where he begins.  When we first meet Luke, he’s helping his Uncle Own (Phil Brown) shop for robots and complaining about his limited free time.  Yet something powerful emerges over the dinner table.  Luke, as he explains it to Owen and his Aunt Beru (Shelagh Fraser) wants to venture beyond the farm and when Owen says no, he storms outside.  “Looks like I’m going nowhere,” Luke bitterly declares.  It’s a petulant utterance, yet you don’t begrudge him for it.  Luke is clearly more than a rebellious teenager—he’s a young man who desperately wants a life of his own.

            For Luke, that life is ultimately shaped in the “The Empire Strikes Back” when he even receives a ghostly, Campbellian call to adventure.  Bloodied and bowled over after an encounter with a nasty snow creature, Luke can barely move.  Yet he manages to hear the specter of his long-dead mentor Ben Kenobi (Alec Guinness) imploring him to embrace the mantle of the Jedi Knights.

            Ah yes, the Jedi.  There is perhaps no concept quite so beautifully nerdy—warriors who wield laser swords (AKA lightsabers) and move objects with their minds, sending them soaring with the slightest gesture.  A Jedi, we learn, is needed to defeat Darth Vader, the galactic tyrant who killed Luke’s father.  That’s why the vengeful Luke accepts the Jedi training, bowing to the will of an elfish creature called Yoda (a marvelously lifelike puppet created and voiced by Frank Oz).

            It is here, in the midst of this spiritual warrior education, that the moral ambiguity of “Star Wars” truly surfaces.  “Your weapons—you will not need them,” Yoda tells Luke when he tests his mettle in a murky cave.  Yet Luke ignores this warning, strapping a gun to his hip as he steps into the darkness.  The result?  He has a vision of himself as Vader—a reminder of where his grim hatred and trigger happiness could lead him. 

            And so, the crux of “Star Wars” bursts forth.  When training Luke, Yoda speaks of “the dark side,” his name for the corrupting power of anger, fear, and aggression.  And Luke, we learn, is susceptible to this power, especially when he uncovers a terrible truth—that Darth Vader is, in fact, his father.  “Join me, and together we can rule the Galaxy as father and son!” Vader bellows in the gloriously menacing voice of James Earl Jones while Luke clings to a flimsy railing, reeling from the bad news.  It’s a revelation so horrific that it’s hilarious, yet your laughter dies in your throat when Luke visits a dying Yoda in “Return of the Jedi.”  “Is Darth Vader my father?” he asks.  And once he knows the truth, his mission is suddenly more complicated.  “I can’t kill my own father,” he says simply.

            But should he?  Difficult to say, that is.  In “Star Trek,” the question of whether or not Vader should be executed for the greater good might have been explored, even confronted.  Yet “Star Wars” is different and its creator, George Lucas (who guided each film at least as a writer and executive producer) chose to frame Luke’s struggle not as an ethical dilemma, but a personal one.  It’s embodied by the fact that Luke carries the secret of his parentage deep within himself, even though those who know urge him to kill Vader.  Will they be proven right?  Maybe.  But Luke insists, “I can bring him back…to the good side,” raising the question—in this dark universe, will the hopeful intuition of one man prevail?

            Good question.  But as show-stopping as the answer is, the point of the “Star Wars” trilogy is that Luke has gone beyond the realm of good and evil.  In the first film, he fought his opponents indiscriminately.  There was no need to think; he knew who was right and who was wrong.  But by “Return of the Jedi,” Luke is convinced that there is good within Vader, the most iconic vision of evil imaginable.  Life, he now knows, is not black and white.

            A simple thing to understand, I know.  But simplicity has always been what has made “Star Wars” meaningful.  And indeed, it is the reason why Luke’s realization that hero and villain are meaningless terms rings with such vibrant force, even as he ignites his lightsaber for the last time.

Essay: Summer Movies at the Box Office

IS IT POSSIBLE TO KNOW HOW TO “WIN” THE SUMMER?

by Maxwell Meyers

Above: The premiere of "Guardians of the Galaxy," the highest-grossing movie of summer 2014

Every year, when the world starts cooling down, movie pundits start asking who won the summer.  What does this mean, you might ask?  Well, I'll tell you.  Each year, studio executives schedule release dates for movies based on when certain kinds of films are likely to sell tickets.  Usually, you can count on October, November, and December being reserved for Oscar gold-seekers (case in point: best picture winners like “The Artist,” “Argo,” and “12 Years a Slave”), but the summer months are a different story.  Summer is for the blockbusters—crowd-pleasing movies like “Transformers” that attempt to appeal to as many people as possible.  

But is it possible to predict where on the release schedule that the iron is hot?  Does it matter?  When are the summer months?  Don't I have better things to do with my time?

Let's take this one question at a time (the last one is easy, yes.  But this is interesting, so just stay with me). 

If you ask most people on the street what the summer months are, they would tell you that they’re June, July, and August.  Yet in the case of films, Hollywood has decided that summer actually starts in May, usually with a Marvel movie, or sometimes a new Pixar opus. In essence, studios consider May to be a wading period to dish out films that mentally prepare you for the movies coming in the hotter months.   Just look at Sony’s “The Amazing Spider-Man 2”—not only was it the first high-profile film of this summer, but it also tried to prime audiences for the months ahead by featuring previews for would-be blockbusters like “The Expendables 3” and “22 Jump Street” (for bonus points, “Spider-Man” included a mid-credits teaser for “X-Men: Days of Future Past”).

All this is, of course, was an attempt by the studios to make sure you became a returning customer.  But winning the summer depends on more than audience interest—it depends on when a movie is released.  And while some might be skeptical of this concept, the numbers may surprise you.  According to boxofficemojo.com, an average of thirty-three films are released each June—four of which typically wind up in the top twenty-five highest-grossing films of the year.  And for studios looking to win the entire kitchen caboodle, July is even hotter.  Films released during that month not only have an eighty-seven percent chance of being in the top twenty-five, but becoming the highest-grossing film of the year as well.

By contrast, picking the wrong month can doom a movie to financial failure.  There has never, for instance, been an August movie that has become the highest-grossing movie in a given year.  The irony?   That on average, forty movies are released in August each year.  Despite the threat of oversaturation in the market, studios keep betting they can score the next off-season hit (in the vein of “Guardians of Galaxy,” which was a critical and commercial blockbuster in August of this year).

But what does this all mean?  Do any of these financial statistics matter?   That depends on the movie you are releasing and whether or not you are an executive at Warner Bros.  But as a consumer, it's hard to say we truly lose.  In the scramble to score prime release dates, studios have been pumping out hundreds of movies, meaning that there are now more choices for everyone.  The only problem is that with not enough time or money on hand, it seems the hardest choice is choosing a move to see on a Friday night.

Movie Review: "Animal House" (John Landis, 1978)

ANIMAL ANARCHY: 
HIDDEN DEPTHS IN THE GREATEST FRAT MOVIE OF ALL TIME 
by Bennett Campbell Ferguson

Above: John Belushi as the indestructable Bluto

 

What are the rules governing movies about bad behavior?  In theory, there are none—all you technically have to do is gather a gang of (usually male) actors and film them having (fake) sex and doing (pretend) drugs.  Then, toss in a couple F-bombs, shake well, and bam!  You have a crowd pleasing fantasy of debauchery that audiences can gleefully behold in the comfort of multiplexes and living rooms.

            Of course, there is one more crucial ingredient—the unwritten decree that while such films must revel in wretched excess, they must also conclude with their heroes settling down to live morally responsible lives.  After all, how could “Wedding Crashers” wrap without Vince Vaughn and Owen Wilson committing themselves to monogamy?  And for that matter, what would “The Hangover” be if its terrible trio didn’t sober up and leave Las Vegas?

            To be frank, I think it’d be a more honest film.  Because the truth is that films like “Wedding Crashers” and “The Hangover” indulge in the ultimate hypocrisy by glorifying law-breaking idiocy yet assuring us that the meaning of life is to be a law-abiding citizen.  It’s a disgustingly contradictory sentiment, one that’s radically missing from what is perhaps the greatest bad behavior movie ever made: John Landis’ “Animal House.”

            Released in July of 1978, “Animal House” begins with two unpromising youngsters, Larry Kroger (Thomas Hulce) and Kent Dorfman (Stephen Furst), pledging their friendly neighborhood fraternities.  At first, they have little success (the overlords of one snobby frat practically hurl them out the door), but Larry and Kent find themselves welcomed into what is charitably known as “the worst fraternity on campus”: the raucous, outrageous castle of crime called Delta House.

            To say the least, the Delta House is a hotbed of degeneracy, a drunken community whose deranged citizens enjoy innumerable illegal activities (the least of which is serving alcohol to minors).  Yet we quickly learn that though the Deltas are slovenly, they’re not snobby—they accept nerds like Larry and Kent (if grudgingly) and they show a profound loyalty to one another.  An early sequence in which the Delta brothers help Kent take revenge on a ruthless ROTC student may be grotesque, but it personifies the spirit of solidarity that separates the Deltas from the rest of campus. 

            Such behavior, of course, does not impress the faculty.  The dean of the college, Vernon Wormer (John Vernon) is particularly incensed by the Deltas’ mad schemes (even though he’s corrupt himself, having recently bribed a local politician using students’ money).  He’s close to expelling the Deltas and their president, the dopily sincere Robert Hoover (James Widdoes) urges caution from his fraternity brothers.  But the tighter the noose gets, the more the Deltas feel compelled to indulge themselves, as evidenced by a raucous toga party at which Larry makes out with a thirteen-year-old girl and the insatiable Eric Stratton (Tim Matheson) sleeps with Dean Wormer’s wife.

            Alas, it is all for naught, since the Deltas are ultimately all expelled and left with nothing to do but mope.  “What’s this lyin’ around ****?” exclaims the psychotic Bluto Blutarsky (John Belushi).  He then proceeds to rage, quite convincingly, that the Deltas should leave school with a destructive bang, something that Stratton agrees with.  “This calls for a pointless gesture!” he announces defiantly.

            And so it begins.  In the final scene of the film, the Deltas blend into a school parade, subtly take control…and unleash havoc upon everyone in their reach.  Floats get smashed.  A girl gets thrown through a window.  A young soldier gets trampled to death.  And in the end…no one is punished.

            Perhaps I’m making this spectacle sound more ghastly than it really is.  “Animal House” is, after all, a comedy, and episodes like the aforementioned soldier-trampling look deliberately cheesy.  But I think do it’s interesting that the antics of the Deltas don’t result in consequences—there is no moral discovered, no lesson learned.  “Remain calm!  All is well!” one student shouts as the parade descends into anarchy.  He’s trying to restore order, but in this world, it is disorder prevails and chokes out everything else. 

            There’s one scene at the end that personifies this particularly well.  Stratton, after sleeping with the cheerleader Mandy Pepperidge (Mary Louise Weller), takes a savage beating from her sleazy boyfriend Greg Marmallard (James Daughter) and his thuggish cronies.  Then, when Stratton reenters the Delta House, his face black and blue, his frat brothers want to know why he was attacked. 

He could tell them the truth; they certainly wouldn’t judge him, considering the things they’ve done.  Yet Stratton, perhaps because he recognizes that motivations mean nothing in this chaotic world defined by action, sums up the reasons behind Marmallard’s and company’s attack with words that personify this ageless, despicably masterful film:

“I don’t know.  They’re just animals, I guess.”

Movie Review: "Iron Man" (Jon Favreau, 2008)

INITIATING A UNIVERSE by Mo Shaunette

Above: Robert Downey Jr. as Tony Stark, AKA Iron Man

 

2008’s “Iron Man” was, and still is, a good movie. In fact, it’s a great movie: fun, funny, energetic, visually interesting, and all of it spearheaded by Jon Favreau’s excellent direction and a career-redefining leading role from Robert Downey Jr. But it was also more than that: for comic book fans like myself, it was a justification that our hobby could make it to film with the respect, grandiosity, and sheer glee that it deserved. And also, for regular moviegoers, it was the shape of things to come.

            Comic book movies have had an interesting ride over the past few decades. 1989’s “Batman” proved that the Caped Crusader could be as dark on film as readers believed he should be, and he continued to be a pop culture force for the next decade…until 1997’s “Batman and Robin,” the humiliating fourth installment of the franchise, killed the reputation of comic book movies.  

Then, a few years later, DC Comics’ distinguished competition came along. In the early 2000s, Marvel delivered the one-two-three punch of the action-horror feature “Blade,” the drab but undeniably comic-booky “X-Men,” and the fantastical “Spider-Man” (also, “Hulk” happened). Marvel, along with Sony and Fox, proved that comic book movies were here to stay, so much so that DC threw its hat back in the ring with works like “Batman Begins” and “Superman Returns.”  

But Marvel had a loftier ambition: to bring comic book style continuity to the big screen, merging their vast array of universes and characters together into one big story. And the first step in their plan was “Iron Man”.

            I saw “Iron Man” twice in the theatres. The first time was an 8 o’clock Thursday showing before the film’s Friday release, at Seattle’s massive Cinerama. Most of the attendees were diehard fans of the comics like myself, who had heard conflicting rumors about post-credits scenes (which by now have become a staple for Marvel Studios releases). After the credits rolled and those of us that stuck around had stuck around, the screen came alive with our protagonist, Tony Stark, returning home to his lavish Malibu mansion. The following is my recollection of how that scene played out:

Tony Stark: Jarvis.

JARVIS: Welcome home, Sir. [Jarvis cuts out] 

[Tony notices a figure by the window looking outside. He sounds like Samuel L. Jackson.]

Unknown Man: "I am Iron Man." You’ve… [The rest of the dialogue is drowned out by wild screams from the audience]

Stark: …the hell are you?

Unknown Man: [appears in light] Nick Fury, director of S.H.I.E.L.D.

Audience: [More screaming, then shushing.]

Fury: I'm here to talk to you about the Avenger Initiative.

[Audience proceeds to E-X-P-L-O-D-E, me among them.

In those moments, Nick Fury promised to make comic book fans’ dreams come true: he, and to a larger extent Kevin Feige and the rest of the good folks at Marvel Studios, would make the ideal Avengers movie a reality.

            Six years later and that dream has been realized, and then some. “The Avengers” (which combined the adventures of Marvel heroes including Iron Man, Thor, Captain America, the Hulk, and more) came out and made all the money ever, and Marvel’s Phase II line-up of movies is well underway. Beyond that, every other studio with a comic book property is doing their best to catch up, with Warner Bros. struggling to improve upon the formula with their Batman/Superman/Justice League projects and Sony planning on giving the Spider-Man villains their own damn movie because those are all the characters they have the rights to. However, I doubt they will top Marvel’s king-of-the-hill status; after all, Marvel did it first, and thus far, they’ve done it best.

            That is why “Iron Man” was more than a movie; it was a statement of purpose. It was Marvel Studios planting their flag firmly in the dirt, saying “This is who we are, these are the movies we make, this is the world we’re building, and this is the shape of things to come.”  It was a promise, one that they kept with gusto.

List: The Best (And Worst) Movies of Summer 2014

MOVIES OF SUMMER PAST by Bennett Campbell Ferguson

Above: Michael Fassbender, reprising his role as Magneto in "X-Men: Days of Future Past"

 

And so, we’ve come to the end—the end of a journey that began with the heinous and garish theatrics of “The Amazing Spider-Man 2.”  That movie was, of course, the first salvo of the 2014 Summer season.  And in many ways, it foreshadowed what was coming—four months of sloppy screenwriting (“Magic in the Moonlight,” “Palo Alto”) and insufferably smarmy entertainments (“Begin Again,” “Guardians of the Galaxy”).

            And yet, this sour season was flecked with moments of transporting wit and beauty.  Remember Joaquin Phoenix’s emotionally scarring turn in “The Immigrant”; the corporate-controlled, weapon-fuelled world of “The Double”; and Bryan Singer’s masterful and meticulous direction of “X-Men: Days of Future Past”?  I do.

            In other words, Summer 2014 at the cinemas was at once beautiful and sobering.  So, without further ado, here they are—the movies I saw these past four months, ranked from best to worst:

1.       “X-Men: Days of Future Past” (Bryan Singer)

2.      “The Double” (Richard Ayoade)

3.      “Locke” (Steven Knight)

4.      “Obvious Child” (Gillian Robespierre)

5.      “SuperMensch: The Legend of Shep Gordon” (Mike Myers)

6.      “The Immigrant” (James Gray)

7.      “The Trip to Italy” (Michael Winterbottom)

8.      “Magic in the Moonlight” (Woody Allen)

9.      “Boyhood” (Richard Linklater)

10.   “Belle” (Amma Assante)

11.   “The Amazing Spider-Man 2” (Marc Webb)

12.   “Palo Alto” (Gia Coppola)

13.   “Guardians of the Galaxy” (James Gunn)

14.   “Begin Again” (John Carney)