"Infinitely Polar Bear" (Maya Forbes, 2015)

FATHER-DAUGHTER TIME by Bennett Campbell Ferguson

Above: Mark Ruffalo stars in Ms. Forbes' new movie. Photo ©Sony Pictures Classics

 

It’s no secret that the great Mark Ruffalo plays pessimistic men with luxuriant ease—in his movies, he often allows his shoulders to droop backwards, while dropping his voice to a low sludge and smiling with bitter amusement at life’s cruel tricks (which, in his case, have ranged from a ghostly Reese Witherspoon to a very green problem).  Yet in Maya Forbes’ “Infinitely Polar Bear,” Mr. Ruffalo is fierce and sharp.  As the frazzled father Cam Stuart, he bursts out of the frame, screeching across streets and messy rooms and smashing any household appliance that dares irritate him.

            Cam is manic depressive.  Years ago, he had a breakdown. Now, he’s recovered, yet while watching the movie, I was terrified for the people around him; even when Cam offers to help a neighbor carry their groceries, you feel as if he might hurl the bags against the wall any second.  Just his luck, then, that his ex-wife Maggie (Zoë Saldana) asks him to live with their daughters, Amelia and Faith (Imogene Wollodarsky and Ashley Aufderheide) while she tears into her business degree.

            And so “Infinitely Polar Bear” becomes a witty and jarring story of a man flailing his way toward parenthood, a twenty-first century “Kramer vs. Kramer.”  Yet while that movie crystallized its patriarch’s redemption in a clean courtroom scene, “Infinitely Polar Bear” is made of subtler stuff.  The storytelling may be straightforward, but Ms. Forbes, with an eye for the kind of sloppy life moments that defy cinematic convention, casually follows the Stuart family from parks to schools to rumpled apartments.

            There is no climax; there is no romance; there is no grinding third act where Cam screams, “That’s it!  I can’t take it anymore!  I’m going to live in the Bahamas!”  But there is all the emotion that Cam, Maggie, Amelia, and Faith feel for each other.  And above all, there is the moment where Cam watches his daughters leave for a friend’s house, the affection and anguish in his eyes making him look much younger than he really is.

Movie Review: "Ant-Man" (Peyton Reed, 2015)

IT’S A SMALL WORLD AFTER ALL, a.k.a. THIS REVIEW IS FULL OF ANTS by Mo Shaunette

Above: Evangeline Lilly plays Hope van Dyne in Marvel Studios' film. Photo ©Marvel Studios

 

There are those out there who are waiting for the Marvel movies to trip up, people who are expecting the studio’s unprecedented hot streak to end and anticipating that their iron-grip on the box office will slacken.  Many have predicted that “Ant-Man” will be that stumble; after all, it is a feature with a troubled production history that stars a decidedly offbeat superhero.

And yet “Ant-Man” is not failure—it’s just not an Earth-shattering epic like some of the more recent Marvel movies.  And you know what?  That’s okay. Sometimes it’s good to step back, take a breath, and return to the well that made your experiments with comic book-based filmmaking a success in the first place—before everything got so frantic.

“Ant-Man” introduces us to Hank Pym (Michael Douglas), a scientist who long ago invented technology that could shrink a man while increasing his strength and agility, along with a specialized helmet that let him talk to ants.  Now, Hank is retired and has taken the secrets of his tech with him, lest they fall into the wrong hands.  As it turns out, those hands belong to Hank’s former protégé, Darren Cross (Corey Stoll), who has created a more vicious version of the his mentor’s Ant-Man suit called Yellowjacket and is on the verge of selling it to HYDRA (the pesky fascist cult that often crops up in Marvel movies).

Enter electrical engineer and recently-paroled burglar Scott Lang (Paul Rudd), whom Hank and his daughter Hope van Dyne (Evangeline Lilly) recruit to become the new Ant-Man and steal the Yellowjacket prototype from Cross’s heavily-guarded research lab.  It’s a crucial mission, not only because it offers Scott a chance to better himself by saving the world from Cross's irresponsibility, but because it gives him a way to earn redemption in the eyes of his ex-wife, Maggie (Judy Greer), and his young daughter, Cassie (Abby Ryder Forston).

It should be mentioned that the players in this saga are solid, but not quite on par with the stellar casts of the other Marvel films.  Mr. Rudd brings a necessary everyman charm to Scott, but his character’s need to grow up prevents him from being as comfortable in the role as he could be.  That said, it helps that Mr. Douglas makes Hank as authoritative and gruff as he needs to be, and that Ms. Lilly adds Hope to the list of Marvel women who should really get to do more stuff (there are some fun supporting performances too, like Bobby Cannavale as Maggie’s fiancé, as well as Tip “T.I.” Harris, David Dastmalchian, and the always great Michael Peña as Scott’s thief buddies).

Still, the surprise standout comes from our antagonist.  Marvel is pretty hit-or-miss when it comes to villains, but Darren Cross turns out to be a surprisingly engaging character.  True, his motivations are paper-thin (he seeks both profits and the respect of his former mentor).  But not only is the Yellowjacket suit a well-utilized villain weapon, but Mr. Stoll plays up Cross’s mentally-unhinged psychosis to great effect and becomes a fun, sometimes funny bad guy.

That said, the movie’s most troubling flaw is exactly what many viewers expected it to be: its script.  The writing here isn't as cohesive as it could have been—the original version of “Ant-Man” was developed around the same time as “Iron Man,” with a script from geek god Edgar Wright and frequent collaborator Joe Cornish, with Mr. Wright slated to direct.  However, Mr. Wright left the project due to creative differences and replacement director Peyton Reed had to punch up and rework the script alongside Adam McKay.

That might explain the unevenness of the film.  The first act of “Ant-Man” is overlong and over-expository, a somewhat clumsy stab at explaining the back stories and personalities of both our former and future Ant-Men.  As for acts two and three, they come off as a bit rushed.  And while there are worse criticisms out there than, “I wanted more of this movie,” I really did want more of this movie.

That said, those last two acts are a terrific showcase for the Ant-Man suit in action.  The giant world that Scott (and eventually Cross) experiences when he shrinks is fully-realized and wonderful, reframing familiar locations like Scott's apartment or his daughter's room into monolithic locales prime for exploration.  During fight sequences, it’s a ball seeing Ant-Man shift between sizes mid-battle, send his army of radio-controlled ants to do his bidding, and even face off against a returning player from “Avengers: Age of Ultron.”  If nothing else, Mr. Reed and the production team should be commended for making a man with the power to shrink seem like the new coolest thing ever.

At the end of the day, “Ant-Man” is a smaller-scale origin story that introduces a new hero to a universe that already has plenty of them.  It’s often uneven and it’s over too quick, but it’s also a fun, funny, and fantastic voyage into the invisible world around us.  Definitely check it out.

Editorial: No More Violence

NEVER AGAIN by Bennett Campbell Ferguson

Three years ago, I heard the news—that a man had shot and killed twelve people in a movie theater in Colorado.  It was not the first (and certainly not the last) time someone gunned down innocent people in America.  But I could not forget that a man had walked into a dark theater and killed people, people who never really had a chance to escape.  If that man had lived in Oregon, I could have been killed. 

            My friends and family could have been killed.

            And here we are again.  On Thursday, two people were shot to death in a Louisiana movie theater (several others were injured).  It was two too many.  No one should ever have to be killed so unjustly anywhere—not in a movie theater, not in a military base, not in a shopping mall in Clackamas.

            I support gun control.  I always have.  But I know I that not everybody agrees with me.  Which is why I’m writing this not to convince you that we need more restrictions when it comes to gun users, but that we all, as human beings, need to do more to prevent violence of any kind.  That, I think, we can all agree on: that these murders need to stop.

            What can we all do?  Honestly, I’m still working that out.  But I know that we can encourage each other to be safe.  I know that we can try to be aware of our friends and neighbors, to keep watch on their mental health.  And I know that we need to believe that there is a way to stop the violence that courses throughout America.

            Democrats; Republicans; gun owners; gun control advocates; it doesn’t matter.  We’re all people.  And I know that if we stand together, we can face the real issue—the violence that needs to stop. 

Movie Review: "Me and Earl and the Dying Girl" (Alfonso Gomez-Rejon, 2015)

AT DEATH’S DOOR by Bennett Campbell Ferguson

Above: Olivia Cooke, Thomas Mann, and R.J. Cyler in a scene from "Me and Earl." 
Photo ©Fox Searchlight Pictures

Towards the final scene of “Me and Earl and the Dying Girl,” a chirpy teen sob story from Fox Searchlight, I could make out a chorus of sniffles in the upscale Eugene cinema where I saw the film.  People were crying, and I didn’t blame them.  “Me and Earl” may be many things—quirky, ironic, irritating—but it certainly stabs with sadness.

            Not so for Greg (Thomas Mann), the movie’s sneeringly self-obsessed “hero.”  The kind of smug outsider that could only be played by a will-be marquee king, Greg is a high school senior, and much to his consternation—he’s already cringing at the looming unknown that is college.  Also, his friend Rachel (Olivia Cooke) has leukemia.

            The scene where Greg and his parents (Connie Britton and Nick Offerman) hear about Rachel’s diagnosis is chillingly incisive.  “Wow.  That sucks,” Greg dopily offers.  Indeed, it “sucks” so much the Greg and his mom and his dad all stiffly come together for a three-pronged embrace, falling into the roles of “concerned friends and neighbors” with disgusting apathy. 

            Nevertheless, Greg does climb the staircase that leads to Rachel’s pillow-covered bedroom. At first, he does so only because his mother glimmers at the prospect of having an angel instead of an offspring.  But as Greg lumbers up those steps day after day, long after his mother’s edict has passed, you feel that there’s something more afoot.  Rachel may meet Greg’s peculiar brand of humor (sample: his imitation of a soulful “polar bear moan”) with impassive disgust.  Yet little by little, she starts to smile.

            As Rachel, Ms. Cooke gives a formidable and tender performance.  But even she can’t make you believe that anyone would be won over by Greg’s snarky sense of humor.  Really, who is this slimy excuse for a kid?  He admits outright to Rachel that his mother forced him to be her friend, spits venom into the steady eyes of his only real friend, the Earl of title (R.J. Cyler), and ceaselessly whines about how everyone tells him that he’s handsome.  Oh, poor baby.

            Of course, many movie masterworks are beset by insufferable protagonists.  But like Greg, “Me and Earl” is a tonic that leaves a grating rash.  Adapting Jesse Andrews’ novel (and working from a screenplay by Mr. Andrews himself), director Alfonso Gomez-Rejon deploys Greg’s cocky voiceover throughout, riddling the film’s characters with snide asides.  “That was really mean!” Madison (Katherine C. Hughes) chides when Greg likens a Goth kid to a Tyrannosaurus Rex.  Yet the unmistakable phoniness of Madison’s reprimand clues us to side with Greg on this one.  

            And that’s not the worst of it.  Visually, “Me and Earl” is as bland as toast without jelly (save for a long take where Rachel bulges across the screen and Greg is shrunk to a tiny speck).  Yet the film’s most miserable transgressions are locked in its sentimental narrative.  Should I spoil the movie?  I’d better not (even though there’s hardly anything worth spoiling).  But I will say this—twice, a character in the film tells us something about how the story concludes.  As it turns out, he lied.

            Why the lie?  Perhaps Mr. Gomez-Rejon thought it was clever.  But it’s really a betrayal of our trust, just as the film’s focus on Greg is a betrayal of Rachel.  “Me and Earl” is a film about a sweet, kind girl who has cancer.  But in the end, her story is nothing more than a stage for a narcissistic teenage boy’s false redemption.  Even when Rachel lies speechless and bed-bound, her anguish is reduced to a backbeat for Greg’s tears and a light show projected over the keening electro-music of Nico Muhly and Brian Eno. 

Never mind that a young woman as dying.  The guys in the room need to remind us that, yeah, they’re pretty deep.

Movie Review: "Inside Out" (Pete Docter, 2015)

I GOTTA FEELING: A REVIEW OF “INSIDE OUT” by Maxwell Meyers

Above: an emotional day in the latest Pixar opus. Photo ©Walt Disney Pictures

There are few cinematic things I hold dearer (or to higher standards) than Pixar films.  That said, most of Pixar’s recent work (“Cars 2,” “Brave,” and “Monsters University”) has been low-caliber—something that makes their latest animated adventure, “Inside Out,” a return to form.  On the surface, it’s the story of a twelve-year-old girl named Riley.  Yet the real stars of the film are her emotions—Joy (Amy Poehler), Sadness (Phyllis Smith), Disgust (Mindy Kaling), Fear (Bill Hader) and Anger (Lewis Black).

For story purposes, these abstract feelings are envisioned by director Pete Docter (“Up”) as humanoid beings operating from the “headquarters” of Riley’s brain (see what they did there?).  Together, they operate Riley’s soul with smooth efficiency…until Riley’s parents move the family from Minesota to San Francisco.  Blindsided by Riley’s traumatizing first day at her new school, Joy and Sadness are shot into the vast canyons of the mind, a plunge that forces them to try and salvage Riley’s happiness before she loses herself.

On paper, this concept sounds abstract.  Yet “Inside Out” does something astounding—it takes a simple story and executes it with aplomb that generates more emotional complexities than any viewer could have imagined.  What’s more, by focusing on a single period in Riley’s life (the move to SF), Mr. Docter is able to map out Riley’s inner turmoil and personality without overdramatizing them.  He clearly understands that when you’re dealing with finer details of the brain and emotions, smaller is better.

By the way—kudos to Mr. Doctor for making me cry in a movie theater.  Like his other films, this one is an amazingly heartfelt journey, not least because of its message—that we cannot exist purely on joy, anger, or sadness.  Like “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind” (my favorite romantic movie of all time), “Inside Out” insists movingly that painful memories are meant to be embraced, not suppressed.

I don’t have enough wonderful things to say about “Inside Out,” though it certainly isn’t Pixar’s most momentous achievement.  I say this not to spite the studio’s efforts, but because of the high standards the brain trust at Pixar sets for themselves.  With beautifully inventive movies like “Finding Nemo” and “Monsters Inc.,” they’ve raised the bar for family films, and the highs they’ve soared to are part of the reason why I’ve had to made people angry by criticizing relative Pixar lows, like “Brave” and “Monsters University.”

“Inside Out,” of course, is superior to those movies.  All in all, I would give it an A- because by taking massive ideas and executing them on an intimate level, it becomes an understandable, relatable, and entertaining Pixar adventure.  I can’t wait till it comes out on Blu-ray and DVD so I can watch it again.

Everything Wrong With "Jurassic World"

INCREDULOUS REX by Mo Shaunette

 Above: Chris Pratt, attempting to keep the raptors at bay. Photo ©Universal Pictures

 

Are you guys familiar with the Asylum?  Yes?  No?  Well for the uninitiated, the Asylum is a film studio specializing in low-grade, direct-to-DVD genre schlock that’s just cheap enough to guarantee a return on investment.  They do sex comedies and creature features (they're behind, among others, the "Sharknado" trilogy), but they're probably best known for their “mockbusters”: blatant ripoffs of whatever’s popular in theaters (e.g. “Transmorphers,” “Android Cop,” “Paranormal Entity”), complete with D-list actors, amateur directors, and the promise of spectacles so cheap and stupid they have to be seen to be believed.

“Jurassic World” feels like someone at the Asylum won the lottery and used the winnings to make another creature feature.  It uses top-tier effects and genuinely talented actors to tell a story that would feel at home being watched on “Mystery Science Theater 3000.”  Also, it’s one of the most dizzyingly stupid blockbusters I’ve seen in a long time.

Twenty-two years after the events of “Jurassic Park,” the late John Hammond’s dream of a fully-functioning, living dinosaur theme park has been realized as “Jurassic World.”  The park is a success, but attendance numbers are starting to plateau, prompting park owner Simon Masrani (Irrfan Khan) and operations manager Claire Dearing (Bryce Dallas Howard) to create a new attraction: Indominus Rex, a genetically-modified hybrid dinosaur that’s bigger, faster, and more dangerous than anything on the island.  She’s also smarter, and very soon engineers an escape from her pen and begins a rampage.

Luckily, Claire has Owen Grady (Chris Pratt) on her payroll, a former marine and animal expert who has a pack of (mostly) trained velociraptors at his side. Together, the two attempt to contain Indominus while also rescuing Claire’s nephews (Ty Simpkins and Nick Robinson), who find themselves in the I-Rex’s hunting grounds.

Not surprisingly, these characters are about as flat as players from a 50’s drive-in creature feature, even though the actors keep them from becoming complete black holes of charisma.  Owen is the sort of rugged man’s man who spends his free time fixing his motorcycle, flirting with his boss, and generally not having any discernible flaws.  Similarly, Claire seems like she should be in a rom-com starring Meg Ryan, and as for her romantic relationship with Owen, it makes even less since than Owen’s bond with his pack of extinct lizard predators.  Meanwhile, Vincent D’Onofrio’s on hand as a greedy corporate slimeball who exists to threaten the audience with sequels about dinosaurs fighting terrorists (yes, really) and the kids are uninteresting, awkward stereotypes whose early scenes are only saved by the fact that they’re interacting with the park.

That said, the film’s action sequences save the movie from being a total farce…but not by much.  I will commend “Jurassic World” for not trying to ape its predecessor (this film switches the focus from Hitchcockian suspense to grand-scale monster fights) and transforming Indominus into a capable threat, but the scenes with her lose their luster too quickly.  There’s only so many times you can see the giant creature eat the other dinosaurs and puny humans before the shtick gets old, especially when the park's security starts using live ammunition to bring her down and it DOESN’T WORK, SERIOUSLY, WHY IS THIS THING BULLETPROOF?!

And then there’s the product placement.  I don’t normally talk about this kind of thing, but it’s so in your face that it has to be mentioned.  “Jurassic World” rails against the corporate heads of the park for being more interested in figures and profit margins than the well being of their animals or the miracle of their existence, but that doesn’t stop the movie from screaming at you that products exist and that you should totally buy them.  Every shot that can have a BMW logo or a Coca-Cola label or, bizarrely, a Brookstone sign, does (for real though, why would there be a Brookstone at a dinosaur nature preserve?).  For all “Jurassic World” wants to say about corporate greed and excess, it ends up being entirely hypocritical.

For these reasons and more, “Jurassic World” is a stunningly inept film.  Watching it, I cringed when I should have laughed; I laughed when I should have been on the edge of my seat (more than once, a dramatic phone call is interrupted by a bad signal, as if one of Idominus's many abilities is to short out cell reception).  If you’re truly interested in seeing dinosaurs smack into each other like they’re action figures in the hands of a four-year-old, then have at it.  Otherwise, give this one a pass or wait until its home video release.