"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.

List: The Greatest Moments of "Star Wars"

IN WARS TIME by Bennett Campbell Ferguson

Above: Yoda (voiced by Frank Oz), deep in thought in "The Empire Strikes Back"

 

Three entities lured me into the world of movies—Charlie Chaplin, Spider-Man, and “Star Wars.”  It’s true.  Mr. Chaplin’s films made me contemplate directing my own; Sam Raimi’s Spidey pictures inflamed my love of writing reviews; and from the beginning, “Star Wars,” that punchy space odyssey, thrilled, provoked, and even disturbed me.

            I’ve been a diehard fan ever since I saw the first film (and no, you will never hear me call it “A New Hope”).  And lately, I’ve been rereading the Star Wars Insider’s list of the first trilogy’s greatest moments.  They’re all on there—Han getting frozen in Carbonite; Luke destroying the Death Star; and of course, Darth Vader’s unforgettable revelation.

            All fine moments.  But I have my own favorites, some of which are on the Insider’s list, some of which aren’t.  So here they are, just to get the conversation started.  These are my favorite “Star Wars” moments.  What are yours?

“Star Wars” (George Lucas, 1977)

Luke watches the Twin Suns set

Han asks Luke to leave the Rebels

At the Battle of Yavin—Ben says, “Use the Force”/Han returns/Luke destroys the Death Star

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

Luke meets Yoda

Luke’s vision in the cave

Yoda makes Luke’s X-wing fly

Luke leaves Dagobah

Han is frozen in Carbonite

Luke duels Darth Vader

 

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

The battle at the Great Pit of Carkoon

The death of Yoda

Vader and Luke reunite aboard the AT-AT

Luke (almost) murders Vader

Vader kills the Emperor

The unmasking of Vader

Luke burns Vader’s armor

The celebration on Endor

Movie Review: "The Dark Knight Rises" (Christopher Nolan, 2012)

THE BAT RISES, AND THE MAN TOO by Bennett Campbell Ferguson

Above: Joseph Gordon-Levitt and Christian Bale in a scene from Mr. Nolan's film

 

Why are superhero movies so successful?  Courtesy of box office behemoths like “The Avengers,” that question has become increasingly relevant.  But as critical discourse so frequently proves, it’s also an unfair query, a cue for cynics to sneer that audiences will pay to see anything explode if the conflagration’s cause is a dashing man in tights.  And while there may be truth in that response, I believe in an even more important truth: that the idea of a superhero—of someone who is different and strong and capable—is exhilarating and empowering.  And for me, that ability to inspire is an innate part of the genre, whether it’s embodied by Superman, Spider-Man, or, most recently, Batman, as portrayed in the “Dark Knight” movies directed by Christopher Nolan. 

Of course, it is inspiration of a somewhat savage nature.  From the very beginning, Mr. Nolan’s Batman has exuded extreme aggression, starting in “Batman Begins” (2005) when he made his debut by ripping a crime boss through a car roof and growling, “I’m Batman!”  Yet the director never let his bat become a bully—instead, he made him hopeful athleticism personified, a man with the nerve to gracefully leap down to a dark stairwell and run swiftly through an asylum hall, leaving wide-eyed inmates in his wake. 

But heavy weighs the body that bears Batsuit.  In the years following that marvelous action sequence, the “Dark Knight” trilogy (which Mr. Nolan, his brother Jonathan, and David S. Goyer adapted from Batman comics by Bob Kane and numerous successors) accrued a complex history and mythology.  That much is clear from the wistful opening scenes of “The Dark Knight Rises,” which revisit a funeral from a previous installment (“The Dark Knight,” 2008) and soon after scan a shelf of framed family photos from happier times. 

The photos belong to Bruce Wayne (the aging billionaire who once fought crime in the guise of Batman) and they all are of people who are long dead, from his parents to his paramour, Rachel Dawes.  But Bruce hasn’t just lost his family—he’s also lost the sense of purpose that once made him a formidable fighter for truth and justice.  Having long since throttled the last criminal in his hometown, Gotham City, the Dark Knight has retreated into his manor and while he certainly sulks with style (early in the film, Batman/Bruce portrayer Christian Bale sports a dignified-looking robe and beard), it’s hardly a life.  The Batman has fallen into a funk, which is why he’s more than ready to ride into action when an army of terrorists is found sequestered in Gotham’s sewers, waiting to strike. 

What follows is a compelling narrative about the perils of obsessive vigilantism and the violent breakdown of a metropolitan society.  Yet “The Dark Knight Rises” is hardly an academic project.  True, Mr. Nolan belabors some heady themes, but he also uses the film as a vehicle for his own personal style, which is blissfully predicated on staging every moment in the most gargantuan and dramatic manner possible. 

Just watch the scene where Batman batters a thug who’s been vaulted from a motorcycle.  The movie doesn’t just show us the Batman—it shows us a hard close-up of his formidable black boots and trailing cape, juxtaposed against gray concrete while Hans Zimmer’s score beats like an atonal thunder clap.  It’s a powerful shot, not only because it’s spectacularly photographed (by Wally Pfister), but because it’s beautifully positioned within the film’s narrative—by showing Bruce as a broken man first, Mr. Nolan lets us savor the exultation of his regained strength all the more. 

That said, such intensity is not always pleasant.  Throughout his films, Mr. Nolan has nurtured an interest in sickening villainy and in “The Dark Knight Rises,” he fulfills it chillingly by unveiling the masked brute known as Bane (Tom Hardy).  At first glance, the character is not particularly unsettling—his penchant for neck-breaking and nuclear bombs may induce nausea, but it’s levied by Mr. Hardy’s darkly droll delivery (“Search him,” he orders a subordinate who has captured a police officer.  “Then I will kill you”). 

Yet for all his bravado, Bane is ultimately a plain dictator intent on shattering Gotham’s civil façade.  How?  By sending his followers on a destructive rampage that’s supposedly targeting the wealthy, but mainly just spreads indiscriminate pain and death.  And while we don’t witness all of what happens, what we do see is disturbing—men with guns storming a football stadium; columns of smoke rising amidst gray skyscrapers; and an old man in a bathrobe, standing on the sidewalk, raising his hands to surrender. 

So—does “The Dark Knight Rises” delve too far into despair?  Maybe.  But it’s not the first great superhero film to risk overwhelming you emotionally.  And despite the story’s horrific elements, what has always made Mr. Nolan’s work so beautifully cathartic is the combination of high stakes and strong emotions that spurs his characters to act.  He may deconstruct Gotham partly to see how its citizens will react, but he also does it to give Bruce an opportunity to prove himself by not only saving Gotham, but by saving it in the right way—for its people and not his own ego.  And in creating this challenge, Mr. Nolan not only tops his previous Batman films, but creates a climax to Bruce’s adventures, an emotional reckoning that sheds some triumphant meaning on the embattled superhero’s life.  

Bruce needs it—the loss of his loved ones hangs heavy over both him and the movie like a grimy fog.  Yet it is this kind of despair that makes “The Dark Knight Rises” a satisfying film.  Because by now (thanks to both this film and its predecessors), we are so familiar with Bruce’s dreams and foibles that there’s truly something at risk when he goes into battle, something to invest in.  Thus, when our hero caps the movie’s penultimate act by fearfully scaling a gigantic prison wall, we understand that he’s not just participating in a spectacular spectacle—he’s rejecting his physical and psychological limitations, overcoming the anguish we know so well.  Next stop?  Gotham proper, where he reunites with his partner in crime-fighting, Selina Kyle (Anne Hathaway).  “I thought they killed you,” she calls as she sees him walking out from under a long snowy bridge.  “Not yet,” he replies. 

There’s something special about such smoothly confident moments.  For me, watching them has been personally fulfilling, both in recent years and on the first day that I saw “The Dark Knight Rises.”  By that time, I had put so much energy into wishing for a great film that I needed Mr. Nolan to succeed, to give us one, to reward the faith I had placed in him.  And yet I also hungered for Batman himself to emerge victorious, because in a way, I felt that his triumph might make me more optimistic about what my future might hold.  My own quest, Mr. Nolan’s, and Batman’s were in a way all the same and even though it was out of my hands, I prayed for my two heroes to succeed.

And they did.  For all of its darkness, “The Dark Knight Rises” left me with a feeling of hope.  It ends with some reassuring, knowing nods and finally, the image of a man standing on a platform as it rises from dark water, filling the frame.  It’s a great ending shot for the trilogy but watching it, I didn’t (and still don’t) feel weighted by the nostalgia of the saga ending.  Movie-Batman may be gone for now, but his story concludes with such heartfelt defiance that there’s no need for any tears except the happy kind.  And that’s why I couldn’t help but applaud while watching the film for the first time, feeling emboldened and ready, above all, to rise.

List: Bennett Campbell Ferguson's Favorite Directors Working Today

MASTERS OF THEIR CRAFT by Bennett Campbell Ferguson

Above: Terrence Malick directs Christian Bale on the set of the upcoming "Knight of Cups"

 

From J.J. Abrams to Edgar Wright, these are the contemporary filmmakers that I’m following the most faithfully:

Director	Last Film	Next Film
J.J. Abrams	“Star Trek Into Darkness”	“Star Wars: Episode VII”
Richard Ayoade	“The Double”	Unknown
Sofia Coppola	“The Bling Ring”	“The Little Mermaid”
Gavin Hood	“Ender’s Game”	“Eye in the Sky”
Terrence Malick	“To the Wonder”	“Knight of Cups”
Christopher Nolan	“The Dark Knight Rises”	“Interstellar”
Bryan Singer	“X-Men: Days of Future Past”	“X-Men: Apocalypse”
Andrew Stanton	“John Carter”	“Finding Dory”
Whit Stillman	“Damsels in Distress”	Unknown
Edgar Wright	“The World’s End”	Unknown

Movie Review: "Enemy" (Denis Villeneuve, 2014)

TWO FACE by Bennett Campbell Ferguson

Above: One of the two Jake Gyllenhaal's in Mr. Villeneuve's film

As a filmmaker, Denis Villeneuve is clearly at home in the realm of stark, simple thrillers.  His films may stretch across multiple characters and locations, but they don’t have the frantic, fragmented energy of a Paul Greengrass movie.  Instead, Mr. Villeneueve’s films (or least the ones I’ve watched) move slowly and queasily, like an anorexic waiting for the right moment to vomit.

            The director’s latest, “Enemy,” actually looks like vomit—the cinematography (by Nicolas Bolduc) bleaches each image an ugly shade of pale yellow.  And that includes the faces of Adam Bell and Anthony Claire, the film’s protagonists, both of whom are played by Jake Gyllenhaal.

            And why are Adam and Anthony both played by Mr. Gyllenhaal?  Good question.  In the beginning, it seems as if they just happen to be doppelgängers (when they first meet in a plain, suburban motel room, it’s established that they can’t be brothers).  But what accounts for this strange coincidence?  Cloning?  An unexplainable conspiracy?  James Cameron’s makeup department?

            Personally, I’m at a loss.  In fact, after watching “Enemy,” I was so flummoxed that I called up YouTube and watched a video of critic Spencer Drake explaining the film’s plot.  His theory (that the entire film hinges on hallucinations and schizophrenia) made sense, though I couldn’t help feeling that the movie might be deliberately secretive.  Why?  Because every moment in “Enemy”—from the sleek shots of Anthony’s expensive apartment to the wide takes of washed-out skyscrapers—is eerily pristine, designed more to build dread than conjure up any specific meaning.

            Beyond that, there’s little to admire about the film.  Mr. Villeneuve has a gift for merging realistic suspense with exaggerated horror (his movie “Prisoners” was jarred by creeping snakes; similarly, “Enemy” is haunted by the looming images of spiders).  That ability both impresses me and grosses me out, but the fact remains—“Enemy” is one of the worst-written films of 2014. 

By restricting the dialogue to generic phrases and monologues (including a speech about dictatorships that is delivered twice), Mr. Villeneuve and writer Javier Gulón may have thought they were amping the terror, but all it really does is drain the film of character and life.  Should we excuse artistic laziness for the sake of ambition?  I hope I don’t need to answer that question.

            It’s a shame that “Enemy” isn’t better—with a less monochromatic script, Mr. Gyllenhaal could have delivered a truly unsettling performance (the bland dialogue reduces him to a pretty face).  That said, there’s something fascinating about Mr. Villeneuve.  I did find “Prisoners” to be disgustingly violent, but both it and “Enemy” are at once unpleasant and hard to forget.

            What will the future bring?  Mr. Villeneuve has already shot his next film, the crime drama “Sicario” (which stars Emily Blunt and Josh Brolin).  After that, he’ll direct “Story of Your Life,” a science fiction picture about aliens and linguistics.  Which makes me wonder—like Christopher Nolan and Bryan Singer, will this scary new talent find his footing in the realm of the fantastical?  Will the natural conventions of mainstream cinema imbue his abilities with empathy and life?

Essay: The Hidden Meaning of "X-Men: Days of Future Past"

ALL OF SPACE AND TIME by Bennett Campbell Ferguson

Above: Jennifer Lawrence as Raven in "Days of Future Past"

Spider-Man in an alleyway, deserted by his powers; Superman, staring mournfully down at Earth; the Dark Knight alone, his head bent in shame.  Throughout the twenty-first century, the image of the lonely superhero has been a powerful one in movies, an exaggerated embodiment of the isolation that so many of us feel.  Yet in the comic book-based blockbuster “X-Men: Days of Future Past” (which debuts on DVD and Blu-Ray today), the key theme is not loneliness, but connectivity. 

On the surface, the movie’s story (which tracks the mutant superhero Logan’s quest to preempt the apocalypse) looks like a save-the-world standard.  But through his trademark visual precision, director Bryan Singer makes the film into something more—an expansive vision that shows how human beings are united across borders and even eras.  The result?  A movie that, through its images, attacks the notion that people are too different to unite for the good of the world. 

            That idea is planted in the film’s first scene—our introduction to a shadowy future in which mutants have been hunted to near-extinction by robots called Sentinels.  It’s also where Professor Charles Xavier (Patrick Stewart) is still fighting to save his fellow mutants by donning Cerebro, a silvery helmet that connects his mind to “every living being on the planet.”

            It’s fascinating how Mr. Singer visualizes what Xavier sees in his mind’s eye—mutants across the world, represented by a swirling matrix of hazy, bright-red specters the color of cranberry juice.  But we don’t just see their experiences—we hear them as well.  “Down on the ground, now!” an angry voice shouts from this visual maelstrom.  And soon afterwards, we hear a lone, defeated sob, one that belongs to someone we can’t see.

            What does all this mean?  More than it initially appears too.  Cerebro is a plot device (designed to help Xavier locate the film’s other main characters), but Mr. Singer mainly uses it as an arena to portray communal suffering.  Through the wide shots of the countless, reddened representations of mutants and their cries, we see them in pain not as individuals, but as a species.  As such, “Days of Future Past” finds Mr. Singer at once sobering us with his depiction of global persecution…while simultaneously reminding us that none of these characters are truly alone.

            Eventually, Xavier does find his allies and kicks the real story off by sending Logan (Hugh Jackman) back to 1973, where he tries to help Xavier’s younger self (James McAvoy) stop the Sentinels from being constructed in the first place.  But the younger Xavier can’t succeed alone—he needs the help of his shape-shifting sister, Raven (Jennifer Lawrence), who left him back in Matthew Vaughn’s “X-Men: First Class.”

            And here, Mr. Singer’s interest in connectivity reemerges.  He catches up with Raven in a Paris airport where suddenly, an old woman turns to her and says, “Raven.  Stop running.”  It’s Xavier, using Cerebro to speak through this woman to his sister.  Immediately, Raven stands and walks briskly away, but Xavier keeps calling to her through others, from a dark-haired flight attendant to a thin middle-aged man to a geeky-looking kid (played by Mr. Singer himself).  Though they don’t know it, these disparate people are united for a moment, strangers bound together on a mission. 

            Why is this scene so crucial?  Mainly because it visualizes the potential of a united humanity.  The world of “Days of Future Past” is a divided one—not only are the film’s mutants hated by humans, but the mutants themselves can’t seem to agree on anything.  That’s why it’s so important that in fleeting moments like the airport scene and that Cerebro sequence, Mr. Singer suggests that it doesn’t have to be that way.  To him, collaboration and friendship are just as viable as violence and hatred.

            There’s more to the movie as well; its script (by Simon Kinberg) has a lot to say about right and wrong, second chances, and turning the other cheek.  But despite such thematic clarity, “Days of Future Past,” like so many of Mr. Singer’s films, transcends words and circumstances to express something more interesting through its visuals.  And that something is a compelling idea—that though we may feel alone, we are part of a greater network that can span space and time, if we want it to.   

Movie Review: "Palo Alto" (Gia Coppola, 2014)

DEAD END KIDS by Bennett Campbell Ferguson

Above: Emma Roberts, leader of the "Palo Alto" ensemble

A high school girl in a yellow sweatshirt stands in front of a chain link fence, smoking a cigarette.  She’s alone; it seems as if that fence is a barrier, separating her from the rest of the world.  But soon, she runs to the other side, growing smaller she blends into the midst of a soccer team.

            That’s the first time we see April (Emma Roberts), the heroine of Gia Coppola’s movie “Palo Alto.”  There are other characters, of course—the good-hearted ne’er do well Teddy (Jack Kilmer), his nasty “friend” Fred (Nat Wolff), and the vulnerable, seductive Emily (Zoe Levin).  But April has a quiet sweetness that makes her stand out, especially as the movie’s story becomes shadowy and frightening.

            In human terms, I’m not sure it’s a story I can judge.  All the things that the kids in “Palo Alto” do—driving drunk, partying late—weren’t part of my high school experience.  But as a film critic, I can confidently say that the movie is almost entirely a waste of time.  By delving into the trials of adolescence, Ms. Coppola may have thought she was confronting potent truths about the human condition.  But the result of her efforts never quite solidifies, despite its obvious sincerity.

            From the beginning, life looks bleak for her disparate heroes.  April seems perpetually alienated and Teddy, after being arrested, is told that one more offense will land him in juvenile detention.  Initially, it seems like his road to redemption will be an easy one; after all, he gets to do his community service at a welcoming children’s library and his mom seems surprisingly forgiving.  But stuff, as it always does in movies, happens.

            In many ways, Teddy is a compelling character—the idea of a boy who is equally comfortable reading a picture book and cutting down a graveyard tree with a chainsaw is perversely intriguing.  Yet it’s not much fun being immersed in his misery, especially whenever Fred shows up, luring his sidekick back into the world of drug-buying and destructive mischief, like some kind of devil’s minion.

            What could make this situation more depressing?  For starters, the fact that the adults of “Palo Alto” seem just as corrupt as the kids.  Just as Fred’s dad (Chris Messina) creepily comes on to Teddy, the grinning soccer coach Mr. B. (James Franco) makes a pass at April.  And while this seduction is certainly disturbing, it’s not much more than that—the film never delves into the complex river of emotions that such an encounter would inevitably stir.

            Beyond that, there’s much to admire in “Palo Alto,” and the movie’s touches of strangeness (like Fred’s surreally fleeting voiceover and a near-endless, rhapsodic shot of April sitting in the back of a car) suggest that Ms. Coppola’s filmmaking prowess might one day flower.  If that day arrives, it may be interesting to re-examine “Palo Alto” and see how its visual and audio quirks foretold the future.  But for now, the movie, like so much of adolescence, is a drag.

Movie Review: "Gone Girl" (David Fincher, 2014)

SHE’S GONE, HE’S PICKING UP THE PIECES by Bennett Campbell Ferguson

Above: Nick (Ben Affleck) by a photo of his missing wife (Rosamund Pike) in "Gone Girl"

Almost two years ago, Ben Affleck’s “Argo” (his third film as director) won the best picture Oscar.  Yet the hard truth remains that as a director, Mr. Affleck is merely competent; acting is where his real mastery lies.  And in David Fincher’s “Gone Girl,” he’s in front of the camera again, smiling, tearfully groveling, and enlivening a perfectly adequate movie with fascinating, leering charm.

            And how apt.  In the film, Mr. Affleck plays Nick Dunne, a Missouri bar owner whose marriage is wheezing to a close.  Nick says that his wife, Amy (Rosamund Pike), is obnoxious and “disapproving”; Amy says Nick wants to murder her.  Except we don’t really know who’s telling the truth—all we know is that Amy was afraid of Nick, and that now she’s gone.

            So begins the real story of “Gone Girl.”  After some eerily calm opening credits, Nick returns to his ludicrously lavish house (the whole movie looks cleaner and sleeker than a television commercial) to find a smashed table and no sign of Amy.  Immediately, he calls the police, but they’re only suspect is Nick himself.  Which leaves us asking: how much do we really know about this man?  Can we trust him?  Could he have actually killed the perfect and beautiful Amy Dunne?

            Full disclosure—I knew the answer before I walked into the theater.  And when I read the film’s source material (Gillian Flynn’s novel of the same name) months ago for a book club, it absorbed me entirely.  “Gone Girl” is a pop lit bar none—a mystery that spurs you into fits of frantic guessing, before brutally enlightening you in an infuriating and thought-provoking finale.  It’s the kind of book you consume late into the night, the kind that you immediately want to return to as soon as you’ve finished.

            I can’t say the same of the movie.  Oh sure, it’s a capable adaptation—until a galumphing final act, Mr. Fincher keeps the story moving at an elegantly brisk pace.  There’s just one problem.   On the page, the excitement of “Gone Girl” hinged on our doubts about Nick and Amy, on the inevitability that at least one of them was a liar, and the exhilaration of not knowing who to trust was part of the reading experience.  Now, however, those of who have read the book do know, meaning that the mere facts of the story are no longer enough to sustain our interest. 

Which wouldn’t be an issue if Mr. Fincher had made an inventive and radical movie.  But his “Gone Girl” is one of those drearily loyal adaptations that reproduces whole passages and sequences from its source verbatim, with all the delicacy and soullessness of a zerox machine.  “When I think of my wife, I always think of her head,” Nick muses in voiceover.  Yeah, we know, Nick, because you said the exact same thing in chapter one.

            I’m sure some readers will be grateful that Ms. Flynn’s novel was adapted so faithfully.  But to me, Mr. Fincher’s loyalty to the book (and Ms. Flynn’s; she wrote the screenplay) strangles much of the life and suspense from the story.  It’s the reason why watching the movie is like listening to someone read “Gone Girl” aloud in a monotone, without adding any fresh tension or emotion to the story.

            In other words, thank goodness for Mr. Fincher’s cast.  Mr. Affleck has long since proven himself as a screen thespian, but he’s particularly impressive here.  “Should I be concerned?” Nick asks when the police begin searching for Amy.  Not a revelatory question, to be sure, but Mr. Affleck delivers it with such (appropriately) dopy woodenness that you immediately grasp the truth of Nick’s character—that he himself is an actor, trying (and failing) to play the role of the concerned and loving husband.

It’s not meant to be a particularly likable performance, but I’m still glad it’s balanced by a more charming turn—Carrie Coon as Nick’s twin sister, Margo.  As Margo, Ms. Coon is confident, foul-mouthed, and movingly loyal to Nick, even if she never believes in him blindly.  But towards the end of the film when she sits on a kitchen floor and sobs, you feel something—fragile, wrenching emotion, the kind that should have been in the movie all along.

Movie Review: "Locke" (Steven Knight, 2014)

BEYOND THE WHEEL by Bennett Campbell Ferguson

Above: Tom Hardy, the only actor who appears onscreen in Mr. Knight's film

Ever since I saw him slyly smiling through Christopher Nolan’s “Inception,” I have adored Tom Hardy.  There’s something about him—a glimmer of confident mischief in his eyes that’s irresistible.  And even wearing Bane’s fearsome mask in Mr. Nolan’s “The Dark Knight Rises,” he still exuded a gleam of cheekiness, a homicidal wit that twinkled even in the midst of brutal battles. 

            But what about “Locke”?  Watching Mr. Hardy in the early scenes of that indie thriller, I felt a little less affectionate.  His character, Ivan, a married man who is driving to London for the birth of his illegitimate child, initially seems cool and calculating.  Despite the circumstances, he’s determined to do everything perfectly.  He must attend the birth because it is the right thing to do, even if his work and family suffer.  And as long as his actions are just, others will understand.

A presumption that seems both irritating and cruel.  Gradually though, Ivan becomes as multifaceted as Mr. Hardy.  Despite his wife’s protestations over the phone, you begin to be convinced by Ivan’s argument that he is a good man who has made a rare mistake—one that he doesn’t intend to repeat.  And it is essential that we believe that because for the whole movie, we are stuck with Ivan, watching him make reputation-rescuing phone calls while he drives, attempting to keep his life from tipping out from under the banner of respectability.

For that reason (and many others), you have to admire the audacity of the movie’s writer-director, Steven Knight.  It takes gumption to cast only one actor and a couple of voices in a film; it takes even more to stage the entire piece in a car during an hour-plus drive.  But somehow, Mr. Knight and his creative comrades (including cinematographer Haris Zambarloukos and editor Justine Wright) make Ivan’s tiny BMW feel grander than it looks.  The camera doesn’t just see Ivan and his vehicle—it sees the gleaming reflections of street lights in the windows, like luminescent blobs floating in the night.  And sometimes, these gorgeous visions even mix with Mr. Hardy’s face, making it seem as if he were drifting out the driver’s seat and into the night air.

In other words, “Locke” reaches far beyond the confines of its claustrophobic premise.  Trying to assure his mistress that he will make it to the hospital on time, Ivan keeps saying, “The traffic is okay,” over and over, like a mantra.  Yet we soon realize that nothing is okay.  Ivan is so honest that you have to wonder—is he a truly noble man?  Or is his goodness a way of placating his own insecurity, of feeing his ego?

Really, we can never know.  “Locke” never leaves that car and we only know Ivan’s friends and family as frantic, frustrated voices on the other end of the line.  But the movie suggests that Ivan’s honesty and professionalism are perfect to a fault.  He can fix some things; others, perhaps not.  In the end, the only thing he has left is a steering wheel and his desperation to make everything right again.

Movie Review: "The Boxtrolls" (Graham Annable and Anthony Stacchi, 2014)

BOX NEWS by Mo Shaunette

Above: Boxtrolls!

What marks Laika Studios as interesting to me (besides the fact that one of their main branches is based here in Portland) is the lasting impact they’ve made, despite only making two features: 2009’s “Coraline” and 2012’s “ParaNorman.”  They’re probably the leading studio using stop-motion animation for features, and they employ it to great effect, telling spooky stories that also have a lot of heart behind them.  That, and “ParaNorman” was a legitimately excellent movie, one you should make a point to go see.  And while Laika’s third effort, “The Boxtrolls,” doesn’t quite live up to its predecessor, it is still an entertaining ride nonetheless.

            “The Boxtrolls” begins in the Dickensian town of Cheesebridge, where the infant son of the inventor Mr. Trubshaw (Simon Pegg) is taken away in the night by the titular Boxtrolls, a race of underground-dwelling creatures who wear cardboard boxes as clothes/camouflage.  This inciting incident is enough to put the vicious Archibald Snatcher (Ben Kingsley) and his Red Hat Exterminators in charge of ridding Cheesbridge of the monsters.  The baby, however, could not be in more caring hands as the Boxtrolls are actually gentle, cowardly creatures, who scrounge for and tinker with devices thrown out by the humans.

            For a decade, the Boxtrolls raise the boy, Eggs (Isaac Hempstead-Wright), as one of their own, over which time Snatcher’s men drastically reduce the Boxtroll population.  But everything changes when Eggs’ adoptive father Fish (Dee Bradley Baker) is captured, inspiring Eggs to trek to the world above to save him—and ultimately team up with the mayor’s delightfully morbid daughter Winnie (Elle Fanning) to take down Snatcher.

            This being a Laika production, it goes without saying that the film looks amazing, but I’m gonna say it anyway—“The Boxtrolls” looks wonderful.  Every cobblestone brick in the city, every gizmo and doodad in the trolls’ cavern, and every line of fabric worn by the Cheesbridge upper class is lovingly detailed by teams of animation artisans.  And in addition, the characters are molded in that exaggerated, Tim Burton-y sort of way (which gives them each a distinct and memorable look) and the stop-motion animation is more fluid than ever, thereby allowing the action and adventure side of the story to really soar.

            Alas, the film’s script (by Irena Brignull and Adam Pava) doesn’t live up to the pedigree of the production design.  It’s not bad, but it’s very basic and aims for a younger target audience than previous Laika films.  Gross-out gags and slapstick ride high here, and while they’re never groan-worthy, they’re never as funny as they’re aiming for either.  Some of the characters are similarly milquetoast—most troublingly, Eggs’ fish-out-of-water story gets little play until partway through the second act, making the film’s themes (more on them later) feel underdeveloped.

            Honestly, the villains feel like they should have been the main characters here. Snatcher is a surprisingly complex baddie: a voracious social climber who hopes that ridding Cheesbridge of its troll infestation will earn him a place of prestige among the town’s famed White Hat Society.  And the other Red Hats provide the movie’s biggest laughs.  Snatcher’s stooges, Mr. Pickles and Mr. Trout (Richard Ayoade and Nick Frost) even ponder aloud the morality of their actions and their place in the universe (like a turn-of-the-century Rosencrantz and Guildenstern) to hilarious effect. 

            Central to this story are themes of change and identity: that a person decides who they are, and that they can’t be truly changed by new clothes or newly learned behaviors.  And in that regard, “Boxtrolls” mostly succeeds.  It’s not the game-changer that its big brother “Norman” was, but it’s still a fun, easy-going ride that’ll keep the kids entertained and even crack up the adults, all the while looking like nothing else out there.  If you’ve got little ones, or if you’re just a fan of animation like I am, go check it out.