Inside Out

              There is a moment while watching a great film or reading a wonderful piece of literature when it appears the screen between the filmmaker and audience member has fallen.  On these rare occasions (rarer still in the current Hollywood climate), a true connection is made between artist and consumer.  The reader or viewer finds something in the story or image that speaks to them personally.  As the late Richard Griffiths explains to his student in The History Boys, it is like a hand reaching out and grasping yours. 

                I had such an experience while watching Disney Pixar’s Inside Out.   Directed by Pete Docter and Ronaldo Del Carmen, the film does what all Pixar films do best; it industrializes and anthropomorphizes a concept.  Monster’s Inc. looks at the economics of fear within a society of monsters under the bed.  Finding Nemo explores mass transportation in the aquatic realm.  With Inside Out, Pixar brings to life the internal business of thoughts and emotions. 

                In the film, every human and sentient creature’s head is filled with walking talking emotions. The “head office” (not my pun) of our young hero Riley is populated by Joy (Amy Poehler), Sadness (Phyllis Smith), Fear (Bill Hader), Anger (Lewis Black), and Disgust (Mindy Kaling).  While the group takes turns controlling the main computer, Joy is the clear leader.  Riley is a happy sprite and Joy spends her days creating fine memories for her young charge.  However, Riley’s life is turned upside down by a sudden cross country move.  What follows is a unique and enthralling take on the coming of age story where both Riley and her emotions must grow up and accept the complexities of life. 

                This was what I found most surprising in Inside Out.  Many Pixar films deal with adult and somewhat dark issues.   The first twenty minutes of Up?  Jeez.  My heart still hurts from that one.  Inside Out has no lack of tear jerking moments.  In the tradition of Pixar and all Disney films, growing up is tragic and beautiful.  Friends die and memories are lost.  Yet, with Inside Out, the filmmakers don’t just tackle the darkness but also the greys.   Joy is not always the most helpful and sadness isn’t always harmful.  It is in their meeting that we truly live.   For anyone who has been to therapy, sometimes it’s okay not to be okay. 

                This abstract, high concept is the film’s greatest strength, but also its greatest weakness.  The symbolism of Joy dragging Sadness through the vaulted hallways of memory is clear.  While these analogies can be thought provoking and personally resonant, the logic isn’t always stable.   The main question I ask is “Who has agency here?”  Are the emotions in control of Riley or are they simply performing based on her moods?  Is every action the emotions take reflective of an action taken by Riley?  In films like Toy Story it is clear that the Woody and Buzz are separate from Andy.  In Inside Out, the directors seem to have bitten off more than they can chew. 

                These questions of logic do not linger long when bombarded by the film’s dazzling imagery.  The production and character design of the brain world are vibrant and evocative.  They stand in stark contrast to the photorealistic, drizzly streets of San Francisco.  The “real” world is less Uncle Walt and more David Fincher.  Both worlds are rendered in such glorious detail, I found myself easily transported. 

                That is the true magic of this film.  On one hand, I felt whisked away to a strange, colorful land.  On the other, I found myself going deeper into myself, examining my own life and struggles with mental health.   In a summer where the explosions are bigger and the ideas smaller, Inside Out reminds us what great film can truly be.   It is an invitation to travel far and deep.

                

It Follows

              Midway through David Robert Mitchell’s It Follows, Jay (Maika Munroe) enters the office of a high school, looking for answers to her supernatural case of the Clap.  As she passes through the frame, the camera begins to spin in a slow circle, establishing the cinematic space and revealing the deadly creature, hot on her trail.  While a tremendously effective sequence, I could not help but jump up and scream, “That’s the shot from De Palma’s Blow Out!”  I didn’t actually do that, but I was really, really close to embarrassing myself. 

                For the obsessive cinephile, this is one of many shots, music cues, and sequences culled from the masterworks of 70s and 80s genre directors like De Palma, Carpenter, and Craven.  Many new, indie horror directors have a habit of referencing the greats in the hopes of elevating their material or at least pleasing the crowd.  This is not the case with David Robert Mitchell.  Unlike the generic pandering of Eli Roth or the uncontrolled stylings of Adam Wingard, Mitchell’s mosaic of horror throwbacks is both invisible and seamless.  He weaves his homages into an original story that is at once a love letter to genre fare and the most important American horror film released in the last decade.  Sorry for the superlatives.  It’s just that good. 

                In his debut feature, The Myth of the American Sleepover, Mitchell exhibited a gifted ear for teen dialogue and an Altman/Linklater style of direction.  In Myth, the writing and performances are understated and allow the audience to feel privy to real conversations and real lives.  In It Follows, this is no different.  When we meet Jay’s sister, Kelly (Lili Sepe), and friends Paul (Keir Gilchrist) and Yara (Olivia Luccardi), their characterizations are quick and effortless.  In a mere three minutes, their friendships and history are communicated subtly, yet clearly. 

                Mitchell surrounds these characters with a realistic, yet impressionistic environment.  On one hand, Jay’s street feels like it could be Anywhere, USA, an important feature in many classic horror films.  On the other, the fact that this is a Detroit suburb lends the film an undercurrent of class warfare and economic strife.  This subtext is somewhat sabotaged by the production design inside these suburban houses.  The televisions, radios, and decoration are a mix of 1970s and 1980s interior design.  It makes sense considering the cinema the film references, but these design choices take away from the realistic sense of time and place. 

                Watching Myth, it is hard to see how the director would transition to horror.  Well, I’m sorry I had any doubts.  Mitchell’s well-drawn characters and realistic relationships give the film real stakes.  Relatable characters are so often absent in horror.  When Mitchell’s group of teens enter the fray, we care about them, and that makes it all the more terrifying.  They are not attractive cattle waiting for the slaughter.  They are identifiable and, more importantly, lovable.   Mitchell is greatly assisted by the performances of his main actors, namely Maika Munroe.  Considering her role in The Guest, Munroe is making her mark as a modern day scream queen. 

                And she does scream.  A lot.  Following her throughout the film is an invisible, yet physical force.   Employing lighting, sound, and framing, Mitchell creates a great sense of unease and existential dread.   This is the sign of great horror direction.  The director shies away from computer generated effects and cheap scares.  Like Carpenter or even Kubrick, Mitchell makes use of cinematic fundamentals.   He dynamizes the frame so that the threat can come from any direction.   No place is safe for Jay…or the audience. 

                Great horror fiction and film goes beyond scaring the audience.  They tackle or at least struggle to deal with real fears.  So many horror films have dealt with fears of sexually transmitted disease.   Tony Scott's The Hunger and David Cronenberg's Shivers both find ways of making disease tangible.  In It Follows, Mitchell not only finds a new analog for STDs but adds a new dimension to the horror.  What if you could pass on your disease and save yourself?  That is the very question Jay must answer. 

                Now, I have to admit that I may be biased toward this film.  With a 80s synth score like this one, I would pretty much give a positive review to any film.  If you put the Thief soundtrack over Paul Blart: Mall Cop, I would love that film.  Disasterpeace’s score for It Follows is pure Tangerine Dream/Jan Hammer magic.  Unlike the 80s design aesthetic, the throwback score fits the film’s mood and atmosphere perfectly.  Like John Carpenter, Mitchell understands that an evocative score can make a horror film into one unified piece. 

                And that is what It Follows ultimately is.  It is a composite of great genre films and it is something new.  It is all this at once.  This is so rare, especially in the horror genre.  It Follows is wonderfully singular and represents a new voice in American Independent filmmaking.   Now, time to watch Blow Out again. 

               

               

Transformers: Age of Extinction

The other night, I met a beautiful family at one of my tables.  The parents were both young, nice, and attractive.  They had two boys, and one of them had a Robin costume on.  I walked by and said, "Man, no one told me Robin was here!"  The mother laughed, and we discussed her son's love of all things Batman.  She especially enjoys how he is growing too big for the Robin shirt and his four-year-old manboobs are starting to stick out.  I could tell how much she adored her children, and I was touched by her obvious devotion to her family.

I'll admit, I was a little jealous of the husband.  Here he sits with a sweet, gorgeous wife and two badass kids with amazing taste in superheroes.   At my age, these could be my amazing boys.  This could be my wonderful wife.  I hoped, at least, he realized his good fortune.

I was surprised, then, when I saw this guy come in and start hitting on the nastiest woman at the bar.  That same night.  The woman was wearing a tennis outfit, hoping to look like she just returned from a full day of exercise.  However, her cankles and leathery neck wattle told me different.   This asshat was ready to throw away his family for a night of sweaty, awkward, pleasure.

I was furious and it took me a while to discover why.  I think it's that when someone stands up and makes a vow to love and cherish, he is not only swearing this to his wife.  He is swearing it to everyone who has been married or will ever marry.  He is now part of a millennia-old institution.  As someone who hopes to marry and have a family one day, I am offended by this man's behavior.  He will betray his wife and children just to show that he can hook up with a dried-out Bon Jovi groupie.

The anger I feel toward this buttface is the same anger I feel toward Michael Bay.  Like a husband and father, the filmmaker is part of a time-honored institution.  Whenever someone picks up a motion picture camera, he/she has a responsibility to all filmmakers who have come before and to all those who will come after.   Making a film, one promises to produce to the best of one's ability, to tell a story of truth and weight.  No matter how large or small the film, the filmmaker works in the same medium as the great John Ford, Akira Kurosawa, and David Lean.  The filmmaker must take his/her job seriously and not betray the trust that has been given them.

And that's what Michael Bay has done with Transformers: Age of Extinction.  He has betrayed the trust of his audience and every filmmaker ever.  With it, Michael Bay shows that he doesn't care what critics, audiences, or other filmmakers think.  Bay has made decent films like The Rock and Bad Boys.  He knows how to tell a story and film a flashy action set-piece.  However, over the last three Transformers films, the plots have become looser, the motivation more laughable.  As the films have become progressively worse, the box office returns have grown exponentially.  Like the father who keeps cheating and never gets caught, Bay has no reason to change his ways.  He can make his films louder and stupider and laugh his way to the bank.  At culture's expense.

This is not just a bad film; it is an affront to society.  Transformers: Age of Extinction is racist, sexist, and xenophobic.  One little robot is a miniature minstrel show, speaking in slurred ebonics.  When he is freed from a trap, he exclaims, "Gawd almighty, free at last."  The audience, primarily African-American, laughed heartily at this joke.  I was flabbergasted.  I felt like I was in some kind of Twilight Zone alternate universe.  Bay makes a horrible joke of Martin Luther King, Jr.'s speech and the audience praises him for it.  I don't have the words.  

This being a Michael Bay film, I expected a fair share of low angle booty shots and gratuitous cleavage.  I was not, however, prepared for Bay's sexist send-up of statutory rape laws.  A seventeen-year-old girl has a twenty-year-old boyfriend.  They explain that this is legal because of the "Romeo and Juliet" laws in Texas.  Because they started dating before he was eighteen, they can date after he passes into illegal territory.  The film champions this couple and the cause of cradle robbers everywhere.  Again the audience laughed.  Good for the rapey guy!  You go for it!

Bay doesn't even care to hide the product placement in his film.  During one of the drawn-out robot fights, a Bud Light truck is destroyed.  Then, Bay gifts us with a perfectly composed shot of the fallen beer bottles.  Man, those look cold and tasty...  Mark Wahlberg, for no reason, picks up a bottle, pops it, and drinks.  God that's refreshing.  Like everything in this film, it is shameless and stupid.

Transformers: Age of Extinction is offensive to me as a man, citizen, and filmmaker.  Bay shows great disdain for his source material, cinema, and his audience.  And we love him for it.  But this can't go on forever.  Michael Bay will cross that final line, and his audience will turn on him.  The cheating husband will be caught and will find no respite in the saggy arms of a bleach-blond bimbo.  Sooner or later, your sins will find you out.

Noah

I come from a long line of theologians.  My grandfather, Chet, preached drolly from a Baptist pulpit.  My dad has been teaching Religion at the collegiate level for over three decades.  Even my brother took the seminary route and completed a Master's in Peace and Justice.  Sadly, I have not followed the same path. When I first heard the pedantic tales of the Old Testament in Sunday School, I did not see a future in the ministry.  Instead, I cast all the Biblical tales with my favorite Hollywood actors. I distinctly remember a fake poster I made for the story of David; Bruce Willis as David, Demi Moore as Bathsheba, and Kiefer Sutherland as Uriah.  As my classmates worked diligently to memorize Luther's Small Catechism, I drew comic books depicting the goriest deaths from the book of Judges.  This one guy stuck a sword into this fat king and the weapon was completely enveloped by the lardy torso.  How cool is that?

While the rest of my family saw the Bible as an example for living, a path toward a more pious life, I saw the book as only one thing: a badass piece of source material.  I think my inner filmmaker was born during those boring Sunday mornings.  My imagination was alive with epic battles, betrayed lovers, and vengeful deities.  I wanted to see all those crazy adventures on the big screen.  All we got at my church was a steady diet of Veggie Tales. No sex or violence there; only talking vegetables...ugh.  I'm pretty sure Darren Aronofsky had a similar upbringing.  Noah is the movie I imagined while sitting in those hard backed church chairs so many years ago.

Whenever I see Aronofsky's name attached to a film, I mark it on my calendar.  This isn't to say I particularly like him as a director; I just know whatever he puts on screen is going to be interesting.  Pi was pretty cool when I was fifteen.  Requiem for a Dream made a grab for most depressing film ever made and came pretty close. Still, it's just a beautiful cinematic version of a D.A.R.E after-school special.  The Wrestler and Black Swan were dark and featured strong performances, but felt like film school thesis films.  I believe that the director's most thought-provoking and memorable film is The Fountain, his story about mortality, love, and transcendence.  I'll admit, the film is pretentious and crazy.  But, this is what gets me to the theater for every Aronofsky film, that undercurrent of anarchy and batshit-craziness.  The guy isn't afraid to hit you over the head with obvious motifs.  He doesn't shy away from heavy themes and ostentatious symbolism.  His films always go too far, so you never feel like an opportunity was missed.  I kind of like that.

Noah feels like the film that Aronofsky really wanted to make when he filmed The Fountain.  The original budget for that film was very large and sported Brad Pitt and Nicole Kidman as its two leads.  Pitt's production company, Plan B, pulled out and left the film with half-built sets and no lead actors.  The film was eventually made in a lower-budget, distilled manner.  Well, budget was clearly not a problem for Noah.   The film is big, bombastic, and absolutely insane.  Noah is a close cousin of those Arthouse sci-fi epics of the 70s and 80s.  That's when auteur directors like David Lynch brought us bloated bombs like Dune and John Boorman gave us the likes of Zardoz and Excalibur.  They are all "bad" films, but they're loud, beautiful, and friggin' fascinating.

This could have easily been a boring, preachy, film for church groups to attend.  Aronofosky is smart in that he distances himself from those Biblical epics of the 50s and 60s.  Noah feels more like a fantasy epic set in its own reality.  There is magic, fiery swords, and even giant rock monsters.  That's right: Rock. Monsters.  They were angels before and now they're rock monsters.  That's all you need to know.  The setting is clearly Earth but it could be in 3000 BC or AD.  The clothing and production design looks like something out of The Road Warrior or Waterworld.  Don't worry, that's a compliment.  The accents are all over the place and no one really seems to care.   What matters is the simple story told with such gravity and importance.

Aronofosky was clearly not interested in the gaudy, technicolor, religious tentpoles of Cecil B. Demille.  The film is more akin to my favorite Biblical film, Martin Scorsese's The Last Temptation of Christ.  Scorsese's Jesus is a neurotic hero, constantly confused about what God wants from him.  The spirit and the flesh are in constant conflict.  Aronofsky treats his titular hero similarly.  Noah wants to do what his Creator asks of him, but struggles with the repercussions this will have for his loved ones.  At its best, the film is a nuanced examination of spirituality, humanity, and purpose.

It helps to have Russell Crowe carrying the weight of this heavy film.  The guy is a classic movie star and can utter even the most cringe-worthy of dialogue with great confidence and gravitas.  When the CGI animals begin to creep, slither, and fly into the ark, Crowe looks directly into the camera and speaks: "It begins."  The whole scene is ridiculous, but the actor holds it all together.  Crowe is joined by Ray Winstone as the film's protagonist, Cain.  Talk about the two most intense actors in Hollywood.  I'm pretty sure Winstone's dad was Lee Marvin and his mother was...Lee Marvin.  I heard he eats gravel for breakfast and rides his bike without a helmet.  Crowe and Winstone have the biggest stare-down in Hollywood history.  They throw macho dialogue back and forth, and their eyes send icy daggers.  It's really worth seeing the whole movie for this testosterone-fueled scene.

The film is also held together by the work of two of the director's recurring collaborators.  Matthew Libatique returns as the film's director of photography. He hasn't forgotten any of his tricks.  There are few cinematographers working today who still maintain such a cinematic grandeur in their work.  There is a grit and scale to all of Libatique's work, and this is clearly prevalent in Noah.   Clint Mansell is also back, bringing with him the ethereal and minimalist music he is so famous for.  I have listened to The Fountain soundtrack about 600 times, and it never fails to move me.  He can make the grandiose feel small and the most intimate moments feel earth shattering. Both Libatique and Mansell do some of their best work in Noah.

I have a feeling that many people with hate this film.  I enjoyed myself despite its over-the-top nature and self-importance.  Maybe I'm a contrarian, but I love films like Noah.  They are unshackled, a little off their rocker, and the budgets are waaay too big.  And, this movie has fire swords and rock monsters.  Rock. Monsters.  There's something I never thought of back in Sunday School.

The Counselor

I've lived a pretty easy life.  I'm white, American, Protestant, straight, and upper-middle class. I have a car, insurance, and a comfortable bed to sleep in.   I have never wondered where my next meal would come from, and I have had to fight little to get to where I am today.  In my day-to-day life, it is easy to forget that most people are not as fortunate as I am.  It is easy to forget that my food is cooked by immigrants who must work three jobs to support their families.  My clothes are made by bruised children in dingy sweatshops.  As Leonard Cohen sings, old black Joe is indeed still picking cotton for my ribbons and bows.

It is refreshing, then, to be reminded of my place in the world; to be reminded that my success and comfort come at the price of others' failure and pain.  Ridley Scott's The Counselor is such a reminder.  Though the film deals with drug runners, cartels, and morally ambiguous lawyers, the themes feel relevant to daily American life.  The story is brutal and otherworldly, but it deals with familiar characters who believe, as does Kathy Lee Gifford, that plausible deniability will fool Saint Peter.  The film begs the question, "Can one live in a world without being a part of it?"  Can we blindly benefit from suffering without becoming complicit?

Michael Fassbender's character, known only as "The Counselor," seems nice enough at first.  He has a beautiful fiancé, played by Penelope Cruz.  Yowza.  If she were my fiancé, I would never leave the house... Anyway, he has a sweet setup: girl, job, and good looks.  But, like all of us, he wants more.  He puts his life savings into a drug smuggling venture, hoping for a large return.  Of course, his plans go awry, and he finds himself in over his head.  He learns that a man is what a man does.  He cannot benefit from the drug world without supporting murder and torture.  Like so many classic characters in literature, he has blood on his hands, and that damned spot doesn't wash out so easily.

And this film does feel quite, uh, literary.  It is not surprising that the screenplay was written by one of our greatest living authors, Cormac McCarthy.  While this is his first screenplay, it seems to be just another part of his bibliography.  Like No Country for Old Men, it follows a character as greed destroys his life.  Like The Road, it looks at the fragility of our human existence.  Like Blood Meridian, it explores the blood and darkness that this country was founded on, the darkness that still exists today.

Being a McCarthy fan, I enjoyed the film immensely.  The dialogue is strange, beautiful, and funny.  The characters are unique, yet identifiable.  The plot is twisty, violent, and filled with coincidence.  However, many film viewers will find this film dense, pretentious, and confusing.  And they have every right to say that.  At many points, the dialogue moves pasty preachy and right onto the soap box.  Most every character is a poet philosopher, ruminating on humanity, nature, and beauty.  So much of this pontificating is alienating and does not lead to the most immersive of film experiences.  Still, Cormac McCarthy is so damn talented that I love to hear his prose read by some of Hollywood's best actors.

Michael Fassbender, Brad Pitt, Penelope Cruz, Javier Bardem, Bruno Ganz, Rueben Blades...I could fill the rest of this review just by naming the film's stellar cast.  It seems that every scene features some other amazing actor, performing at the top of their game.  Man, does Brad Pitt keep getting better or is it just me?  In The Counselor he channels the body language of Dennis Hopper in Blue Velvet.  He projects the cool danger of Steve McQueen.  Damn, he's good. In any other film, he would have acted circles around his costar.  However, he is paired with Michael Fassbender, one of the best in the business.  This guy can turn on emotion with the flip of a switch.  One moment, he is literally charming the pants off a girl; the next, he is bawling his eyes out.  Add in an insane and complex performance by Javier Bardem, and that is one heck of a leading cast.

It doesn't hurt that these actors are being directed by Ridley Scott.  He has had a rough couple of decades with crap films like Kingdom of Heaven and Prometheus bearing his signature.  Now, it appears the Ridley Scott of Alien, Blade Runner, and Thelma & Louise has returned.  Few can create atmosphere like Scott.  His directing of actors makes this feel like a Mamet play mixed with a Paul Schrader film.  Imagine Glengarry Glen Ross meets American Gigolo.  Woah, that's a good idea for a movie...Never mind.  There is a bizarre cadence to the scenes that creates a sense of unrest and tension.  His composition is clean, crisp, and filled with detail.  I can think of at least five frames of the film I would like to print out and hang on my wall.  One features Michael Fassbender, in close-up, standing in front of a Triumph motorcycle.  The scene's conversation deals with modern masculinity, and this image is both literal and cinematic.  Beautiful stuff.

Again, some may find this film to be a bit too "literal" and preachy.  However, these are things that need to be said.  The Counselor is jumbled and sometimes feels more like a book than a film, but it is easily one of the best pieces of fiction I have read or seen this year.  This is an important story that challenges our American blind comfort.  It is sad that, after leaving the theater, I began to forget where my clothes were made and who cooked my food.  Perhaps I need to be reminded again.  I hope there are more films like The Counselor that can do so.

Escape Plan

I recently turned 30.  Most of you already know this.  On the one hand, it's pretty nice.  I look 25, all my parts work, and my years have gifted me with at least a little bit of class.  Well, maybe not.  On the other hand, I feel a bit behind.  I'm not married, I don't have kids, and my career is still in, uh....flux.  Upon hearing my age, a 19-year-old girl I work with said, "So, I guess you don't want to get married or have kids then?"  Wait, no one told me I had to have this figured out by now!  Is it too late?  How can I be too old if Arnold Schwarzenegger and Sylvester Stallone, both almost 70, are still kicking ass and taking names?

After a few years out of the limelight, the aging stars have returned in a series of "Geriatric Action" films.  Starting with The Expendables, our Reagan-era heroes have made a big return to the silver screen.  With films like Bullet to the Head and The Last Stand, Stallone and Schwarzenegger have shown that they're not ready for orthopedic shoes just yet.  They still know how to tote ridiculously sized weaponry and spout clichéd one-liners.  The two actors are clearly in this for the paycheck, but why do we flock to the theater to see the aging heroes?  Maybe it's because, to feel immortal, we need our action stars to be immortal too.  Think about how long John Wayne wore his gun belt.  The guy needed an hour to go the bathroom, but he could still ride a horse.  If our heroes get old, we get old.  However, if they keep saving the day, we can all take one more step away from our own mortality.

With their new film Escape Plan, it is clear that Schwarzenegger and Stallone may need to trade in their M-60s for Metamucil tablets.  Like most of the other Geriatric Action films, Escape Plan is a rehash of old genre tropes.  The plot is a mix of Stuart Gordon's Fortress and John Flynn's Lock-Up.  Stallone starred in the latter.  Did he forget that he already made this movie once?  You know old age...The cinematography is bland and reflects the worst of digital age filmmaking; no contrast, bland color, etc.  Mikael Hafstrom's directing is serviceable, but unimpressive.  As in their other recent films, the dialogue and plotting is all very self-conscious.  The actors and filmmakers are seemingly aware of just how absurd the whole premise is.  It's as if they can't believe they're still being paid and want to get as much fun in before it all ends.

And, you know what, it is fun.  I can't help getting caught up in escape movies.  We watch as Stallone sizes up every detail in the high-tech prison.  He memorizes the layout of the prison, the guard's movements, and the surveillance systems.  In an escape film, nothing is insignificant.  Even in a weak film like Escape Plan, you watch your characters like you watch a magician.  How are they going to crack the code?  How are they going to outsmart the system?  Most of us pay little attention to our surroundings because our lives are made of predictable routine.  It's a nice fantasy where our environment is stimulating again.  For the escape artist, every sound, smell, and sight could be useful in an intricately planned exodus.

I will also say that I would much rather watch Stallone escape than Tim Robbins.  Unlike The Shawshank Redemption, Escape Plan did not subject me to the expositional ramblings of Morgan Freeman.  I was not bombarded by contrived symbolism and cloying sentimentality.  While the filmmaking in Escape Plan is simple, it is not ostentatious and pretentious, as is Frank Darabont's direction...I love ripping on The Shawkshank Redemption.  When I tell people of my great disdain for the film, they look at me like I just strangled a kitten.  Well, I would never hurt an animal, but I'll tell you that Escape Plan is better than that Redeeming pile of...sorry.

Escape Plan is simple and generic, but it's two hours with some of our oldest friends.  Even though Stallone and Schwarzenegger look like they're wearing old man pants and their hairplugs are a bit too obvious, it's nice to see them up and kicking.  If they can still hang from helicopters and crack skulls, maybe I have more time to get my life in order.  Don't retire yet, guys;  I have some stuff to figure out.  Thanks.

Captain Phillips

When I was home sick as a young man, I had a very strict daily regimen.  A warm bowl of chicken soup, a cold glass of 7-Up, and, of course, my old VHS copy of The 'Burbs.  Nothing made me feel better than spending the day with my friends at HInkley Hills.  There was crazy Bruce Dern, chubby Rick Ducommen, and flabbergasted Tom Hanks.  I suppose the first two are funniest in the film, but it's really Tom Hanks who holds it all together.  Throughout his career, Tom Hanks has held many films together, with his everyman charm and pleasant demeanor.  Like Jimmy Stewart, he's just a guy you want to spend time with.  In a comedy like The 'Burbs, he's just fun to watch.  In a dark and intense film like Captain Phillips, Hanks is invaluable as a moral compass and narrative focal point.

Director Paul Greengrass made a wise casting choice with Hanks.  In his previous docu-dramas, Bloody Sunday and United 93, Greengrass relied on relative no-namers to fill his cast.  While the majority of the Captain Phillips cast is populated with new faces and less-than-famous Hollywood stock, the director clearly understood that an actor with star power was necessary for his lead.  And Hanks delivers.  He is kind, but tough with his crew.  He is intense and brave when facing the modern day pirates.  And, finally, he is vulnerable and overwhelmed when saved by the US Navy.  Sorry to tell the ending, but read the papers.  This is a true story.

Though based on a true story, the film gives us a perspective not featured in many US newspapers.  As Phillips begins his long journey aboard his fully loaded cargo ship, we also see the beginning of the pirates' journey.  Greengrass shows the dingy shack that lead pirate, Muse (Barkhad Abdi), calls home.  The floors are mere dirt, and Muse's bed is nothing but a tarp. As he exits his home, we see that he lives in a small village under the control of a dangerous warlord.  We see how few options there were for the young men in this small fishing village.  When Phillips asks Muse why he didn't choose a different life, Muse replies, "Maybe in America."  As he did in United 93, Greengrass gives both sides of the story.  He does not paint the pirates as heroes, but he does depict them as poor men caught in global tradewinds.  It feels as though the Captain from prosperous America was destined to meet and confront the Captain from destitute Somalia.

Watching the trailers, I feared that this would be a gung-ho America tale.  However, this is no Michael Bay film.  It is more akin to Zero Dark Thirty, where neither the heroes or villains are completely innocent or guilty.  As does Zero Darky Thirty, the film concludes with the intervention of badass American soldiers.  However, they don't come across as cool or heroic, just cold and calculating.  Throughout the film, Greengrass juxtaposes the rollercoaster emotions on the ship with the clinical procedurality of the American military.  As Phillips is crying and begging for his family, the Navy Seals are a bunch of silent Joe Cools.  When the pirates make their outrageous demands, the military negotiator responds with by-the-book misleading conversation.  Greengrass presents a Somalian perspective on the American military, and they are much more terrifying than four desperate men in a rusty boat.

Greengrass may be a master at fairhanded storytelling, but his true genius lies in film aesthetics.  For smart, exciting global thrillers, there is really no one better than the guy.  He basically reinvented action movie directing with his additions to the Bourne series.  His shaky camera, steadicam filmmaking has been poorly imitated by many directors.  Few directors can cut together such jarring images into one coherent and breathtaking film.  That being said, this is perhaps the director's "stillest" film.  Maybe he found a tripod in his trunk or maybe he's just changing his style.  Either way, it really works for the film.  Most of the tension in Captain Phillips comes from camera placement, not camera movement.  On the escape boat, Greengrass creates a claustrophobic atmosphere through simple framing.  At the same time, he varies his shots so there is no sense of repetition or stagnation.  Considering a majority of the film takes place on this small boat, it is impressive that it feels like an ever-changing environment.

The narrative, environment, and perspective; all are in flux in Captain Phillips.  In the hands of a less talented director, this would have been a nationalistic action film.  With Paul Greengrass behind the camera, the film is fair, complex, and thought provoking.  It's a great big world out there, and it's nice to get a little perspective sometimes.