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.

Gravity

The word "escapism" has been tossed around in many recent film reviews.  Most critics are right to use this word as it seems that Hollywood is mainly interested in mind-numbing blockbuster fare.  This makes me very sad.  While it is true that escapist films can be enjoyable, there is no real substance there.  Great films do not invite the audience to escape, they invite the audience to connect.  Great films give the viewers characters to relate to and a story to become immersed in.  While these viewers may feel like they are escaping from their daily lives, they are actually coming full circle and rediscovering parts of themselves lost or hidden.  The giant faces on the silver screen share their emotions and their struggles.  Great films like Alfonso Cuaron's Gravity show us that we are not alone.

It is interesting then that Gravity is one of the most isolating films I have ever experienced.  For the majority of the film, we are alone with astronaut Ryan Stone (Sandra Bullock), spinning miles above the earth.  While this may be a boring story in the hands of any other director, Cuaron keeps the tension high and the narrative moving.  He accomplishes this by deftly alternating between the subjective and the objective.  One moment, we are in Bullock's space helmet, seeing the debris flying toward her fogged-up face plate.  The next moment, Cuaron cuts out to a wide shot, showing the relation of Bullock to Earth and the space debris.  By giving us the inside and the out, Cuaron plants us firmly in Bullock's situation while also giving us the full picture.

When Cuaron isn't making use of skillful editing techniques, he employs elaborate, long-take sequence shots.  It is hard to forget the breathtaking sequence shot in Cuaron's previous film Children of Men.  The camera follows Clive Owen through a veritable war zone as mortars explode and blood sprays across the lens.  In Gravity, the director outdoes himself.  In the opening shot, the camera swoops in and around the rotating shuttle craft.  George Clooney's Matt Kowalski jokes as he fires his jetpack and flies around the spinning craft.  The first shot must be at least five minutes long.  It is a beautiful shot that is also effective in introducing us to a strange, weightless world.  With Cuaron it is never about showing off, but you kind of want to hate the guy for being so good.

You know you're talking about a great film when the special effects aren't the first thing mentioned.  So many Hollywood special effects draw attention to themselves and you hear people walking out of the theater saying, "Well, I guess it looked cool."  With Gravity, the special effects are so seamlessly integrated into the story world that they are quickly forgotten.  Still, let's give credit where credit is due.  Cuaron and his team created a state-of-the-art LED lighting cube with motion-controlled lights.  They employed expert wirework to simulate the weightlessness.  I'm not even sure how this all works, but I don't really need to know.  I do know that for 90 minutes, I felt like I was in space, floating miles above my home.  

However, this isn't a film where people just float around in space and then go home.  While the dialogue is spare and the narrative simple, the film deals with themes of survival and resurrection.  Bullock's journey to find a way home is accompanied by a story of self-discovery and the triumph of the human spirit.  I really hate that saying, but it works in this instance.  Though I have never said this before and probably never will again, Sandra Bullock's performance is beautiful.  Hey, I liked her in Speed and Demolition Man, back when she was cute and spunky.  Older, Oscar-winning Bullock often annoys me with her overacting, but there is none of that in Gravity.  Her fear is real and her will to survive is inspiring.  So much of her performance is heavy breathing and terrified babbling, but her few moments of introspection create a full character that is immediately relatable.

It is hard to imagine finding a part of yourself in a film set in zero gravity.  I had that experience with Gravity.  I have never been in space, but I share Bullock's feelings of doubt and fear.  Like many people, I know how it is to feel alone, surrounded by blackness.  But to share that feeling with a fictional character and a theater full of people is to no longer be alone.  That is what makes cinema great; it takes us to strange new worlds while bringing us even closer to home.

Rush

A boy walks with his father, fishing pole in hand.  A college-bound teen shares one last dance with his high school sweetheart.  A sweet yet naive teen stands in the bathroom of the local hangout, receiving relationship advice from a cool greaser.  As an actor, Ron Howard grew up in front of America.  Though he gained some height and years between his turns as Opie and Richie Cunningham, he never really left the early 60s.  His freckled face and red hair will forever represent the good ol', gosh darn, American Glory Days.

As a director, Ron Howard will always represent Hollywood mediocrity, and the tendency to grab at low-hanging, sentimental fruit.  I'll be honest, I do not like Ron Howard as a  director.  He has made three good films in his career: Willow, Backdraft, and Apollo 13.  They are all well-crafted, exciting, blockbuster fare.  Besides these three films, I find no worth in the rest of Howard's filmography.  "Hey man, what about Cinderella Man?"  Don't you mean sepia-toned Rocky?  "What about A Beautiful Mind?  It won an Oscar you know."  I am aware.  It's just contrived hokum.  "The Da Vinci Code?"  Don't talk to me.

It's disappointing, because Howard's films should be amazing.  He draws in the best talent, writers, and film crews.  His partnership with Brian Grazer and their production company, Imagine, give Howard great resources and artistic freedom.  He makes big-budget, prestige dramas in an era when most Hollywood output is sci-fi or action junk.  Howard could be producing American classics.  Instead, he is settling for safe, predictable, Oscar bait.

The newest addition to the Howard "ouevre" is Rush, a flat, nail on the head, sports drama (I used the quotation marks because I was being sarcastic about the whole "oeuvre" thing.  You can't have an "oeuvre" if you made Splash.  Sorry).   Like the rest of Howard's films, Rush had the potential to be fantastic.  Two Formula One drivers push each other toward greatness and bring the sport into the international spotlight.  It really is an inspiring and entertaining story.  However, told by Ron Howard, every scene is delivered with a plate of cheese and a double order of sincerity.

To be fair, the main issue with Rush is the script.  I was surprised to see Peter Morgan's name in the credits.  He penned The Queen and The Last King of Scotland, both beautifully crafted screenplays.  His script for Rush leaves nothing to the imagination.  Characters say what they are thinking and scream the film's theme out to the cheap seats.  I'll give this to Morgan and Howard: I was never confused during Rush.  Guys argue.  Cars go in a circle.  Wives are scared.  They argue again.  They start to respect each other.  Audience feels good.  Solid work.

As always, Howard's direction is utterly uninteresting.  His shot selection is boring for a majority of the film, interspersed with unnecessary artsy shots.  There are some very nice extreme close-ups of a turning record.  Cool.  We see some macroscopic close-ups of the drivers' eyes.  Distracting, but nice.  Throw in the obligatory computer generated engine interiors, and there's the film.  His direction of actors is just as uninteresting.  Say it big.  Say it loud.  It is sad to see actors like Chris Hemsworth and Daniel Bruhl turning in such poor performances.  They both look right in their respective parts, but their egotistical posturing and straightforward delivery make both characters very unlikable.

Looking at the reviews for Rush, I am surprised to see so many are positive.  At the same time, I am not surprised.  Ron Howard has always been liked by the critics. I just don't get it.  I believe there is a hidden group of Film Critic Illuminati who meet every week and decide which films they are going to like.  I haven't been invited, so maybe that's why I'm in the minority on Rush.  Oh well.  Ron Howard will keep making his movies.  I'll keep hoping for more and be disappointed.  Then I'll get to have fun tearing it apart.  I guess that's a good deal.

The Wolverine

When I was 7, I bought an issue of X-Men.  It was the third issue of Chris Claremont and Jim Lee's reboot series and was it ever beautiful.  Magneto was on the front with the X-Men lying at his feet, cables and wires flying around his head.  He looked so cool . . .  When my brother saw my purchase, he made me promise not to look at the back cover.  I had no idea why he asked me to do this, but when you're 7 and your brother is 14, you do what he tells you to do.  It wasn't until my eighth birthday that I discovered my brother's plan.  Sitting in our messy living room, eating my mom's amazing white cake, I unwrapped a new Cyclops toy!  I had no idea the X-Men toys even existed because my brother made sure I never saw the advertisement on the back of my X-Men comic book.  I have never been more surprised.

Even when my brother and I were young and pretty combative with one another, X-Men was always a serious connection between us.  Out of all the menagerie of mutant heroes, Wolverine was our favorite.  He could be burned, shot, or stabbed, and all his wounds just closed up.  A quick flex of his forearms and...Snikt! Adamantium claws popped out.  Wolverine drank and smoked and didn't take crap from anybody.  For two blond-haired geeks, he was someone to admire.  Thinking back on those days, Wolverine was really like our third brother; a hairy, surly, immortal brother.

I'm sure many comic fans have similar stories in regard to their favorite heroes.  Everyone has their own personal relationship with characters like Spiderman, Batman, and Wolverine.  This would explain why, no matter how commercially or critically successful a comic book film may be, there is always that one nerd who will take offense at some minor or major detail.  Batman's ears are too long!  That's not how Frank Miller drew him!  Wait, the webbing doesn't come out of Spider-man's wrists!  It comes from web-shooters! Yeah, comic fans can be pretty anal, but they've been generally pleased with Hugh Jackman's cinematic portrayal of Wolverine. Through the good (X-2: X-Men United), to the bad (X-Men 3: The Last Stand), to the abysmal (X-Men Origins:Wolverine), Jackman has wowed with his physicality, intensity, and perfect haircut.  His Wolverine has been the high point of all six films his character has starred in. This is also true in The Wolverine, a weak and tolerable addition to the X-Men film series.

The Wolverine is the type of film you forget about the minute you leave the theater.  I saw Michael Haneke's Amore six months ago, and I still have those dramatic scenes running around in my skull.  I saw The Wolverine one hour ago, and I couldn't tell you what happened.  The gist is: Wolverine goes to Japan.  He meets a girl.  He fights some ninjas and a giant mechanical samurai.  And that's it.  The script is as messy as your normal Hollywood film, with an unnecessarily convoluted plot and lame twists.  Narrative clarity and character motivation are not a priority in The Wolverine.  It's long boring dialogue scenes interspersed with some not so eye-opening action scenes.  Too bad.

Still, out of all the X-Men films, The Wolverine gets the character right.  Well, I should say the film presents a Wolverine close to the one my brother and I grew up with.  In The Wolverine, Logan is not nice.  He throws criminals off of balconies and slices confessions out of yakuza thugs.  His vocabulary is the dirtiest yet without being rated-R material.  There are some nice comedic bits that capture the sarcastic and humorous side of the character.  One particular scene involves Logan at a pay-by-the-hour hotel.  As always, Jackman has perfect timing, and many of these scenes are memorable vignettes surrounded by a forgettable story.

It is not surprising to see James Mangold at the helm on this film.  A true director-for-hire, Mangold has never established a recognizable authorial style.  From Identity to Kate & Leopold to Knight and Day, it's hard to see an artistic throughline.  From an industry perspective, he's probably considered a director with a wide "range."  From a critical perspective, he doesn't have much to say.  So much of The Wolverine feels like Mangold doesn't want to make decisions.  The whole thing seems very general.  It is disappointing considering Mangold directed Cop Land, one of the best crime films of the last two decades.  The Wolverine and all his other Hollywood drivel don't come close to that amazing film.

I could go on to talk about the made-for-TV cinematography or the cartoonish green screen action set-pieces.  However, I really can't complain when I get to spend two hours with my bro Wolverine.  The film is pretty lifeless, but it's always fun to see Jackman cutting up bad guys with Adamantium claws.  And, it's nice to remember some good times with my real brother, when surprise was still a possibility in my life.

The Conjuring

So, I guess you would call me a believer.  Throw any kind of myth or urban legend at me and I'll probably believe it.  I was raised in a liberal yet religious family, so I was taught, on one hand, to think outside the box and, on the other, to recognize that there is so much going on in this world that I cannot see with my own two eyes.  My mom thinks that the Loch Ness Monster exists.  My dad says that many years ago, he saw the ghost of a Colonial washer woman.  I believe both of them.  People may ask how a religious family can believe in such nonsense.  How can we not?  If you believe anything that happens in the Old or New Testament, you have to believe in ghosts, zombies, and demons.  The Bible is basically a big, supernatural epic.  Lazarus rises from his grave like an Old World George Romero zombie.  Jesus pulls demons out of the possessed, putting Max Von Sydow to shame.  In the end, you're either a believer or you're not.

Considering my lifelong romance with cinema, my beliefs make sense.  Cinema, like any other narrative art form, asks us to believe or, at least, suspend our disbelief.  When the curtains draw back and the lights dim, we are invited to enter another reality, to believe that this story is really happening.  We forget that these are just actors wearing costumes.  We forget that they are reading lines from a script and that there is a large crew of people standing behind the camera.  As a critic, I'm supposed to have one foot in the door and one out.  I need to be involved in the story so that I can write about my experience, but I can't become so immersed that I lose my critical eye.  Well, I'm supposed to.  It's difficult to stay objective and critical when watching a transporting and terrifying film like The Conjuring.

I've been watching horror films for twenty-five years, and it really takes a skillful director to scare the pants off of me.  James Wan is one such director.  The guy didn't have the most auspicious of beginnings as a filmmaker.  His first two films, Saw and Death Sentence, are laughable pieces of genre filmmaking.  Dead Silence has some frightening moments, but the characters are embarrassingly one-dimensional.  It wasn't until 2011's Insidious that Wan reached his stride.  Insidious made my best friend cry when she saw it.  She was shaking and hiding behind a pillow.  It was great...I'll have to make sure to show her The Conjuring.  She'll probably need therapy after she sees it.  I'm a bad friend...

Man, this movie is really, really scary.  Any good horror film is really a compilation of vignettes.  The Conjuring is no different and boasts a number of entertaining and horrifying sequences.  One such sequence takes place in the basement of a haunted house.  A paranormal investigator finds herself alone in the dark, dank basement.  She begins to hear a low cackling and then sees a hanging body making its way toward her.  This is not a "boo" moment, but instead a crescendo of terror.  The end of the film is also a frightening sequence presented with great skill.  As an evil entity takes possession of a central character, the sounds of demons and unearthly beings begin to grow in volume.  Items begin to move in the air and the possessed figure begins to levitate.  We have seen scenes like this before, in The Exorcist and The Last Exorcism, but there is a freshness to Wan's presentation.

The film feels so fresh because of how little Wan employs digital effects as scare tactics. So many horror films today look like gore-soaked cartoons.  Instead of using computer generated images, The Conjuring makes great use of filmmaking fundamentals.  Wan uses light and shadow to hide and reveal monstrous figures and other frightening elements.  His framing is dynamic and he creates a sense of unease with the placement of actors, props, and set dressing.  Wan also shoots a great bit of the film in long takes, and his blocking and camera movement create an atmosphere of fearful expectation.  The rest of the film is edited with great precision.  It all feels quite mathematical, and you can imagine Wan counting out beats in the editing suite.

There are breaks from the scary stuff, and these are filled with great characters.  Patrick Wilson and Vera Farmiga are amazing as Ed and Lorraine Warren.  They both bring great humanity and comedy to their roles.  Farmiga conveys the dark history of her character with simple eye movements and tortured body language.  Lily Taylor and Ron Livingston are lovable as the tenants of the haunted house.  Horror is so much more effective when we care about those involved.  Wan gives us many characters to identify with and root for when the spirits come calling.

The Conjuring also feels very relevant as it tells the story of a family stuck in a house they don't want.  The story of this family feels reminiscent of contemporary families fooled by predatory lenders and immoral realtors.  In The Conjuring, unseen forces have evil plans for a happy family.  How similar are these unseen forces to the machinations of Wall Street prospectors?  How many families feel that they have no control over their own homes?  The film, whether intentional or not, is an interesting exploration of property economics and themes of home and family.

In the end though, The Conjuring is just a scary movie.  For a film that exhibits such fine film craft, it's easy to forget the inner workings of the film.  It’s easy to forget that this is just a movie.  And, for 106 minutes, it's easy to just believe.

Pacific Rim

Like most children, I was obsessed with dinosaurs.  I remember digging in my backyard, hoping to find even the smallest evidence of an Ankylosaurus or of my favorite dinosaur, the Allosaurus.  The Allosaurus is like a smaller, faster Tyrannosaurus Rex and he could bust some serious heads.  Reminiscing on my paleontologist past, I think I understand my passion and perhaps most children's passion for those scaly, walking monsters.  When I was a child, the world felt like a big, strange place.  From the low vantage point of three feet, everything loomed over me and seemed ready to topple down on my brittle body.  Like most children, I had no real control over my daily life.  I could only get food through my parents and go outside only with their permission.  How envious I was then of the Allosaurus, stomping where he pleased and chomping down on any poor creature that crossed its path.  That was control.  That was power.

I wouldn't be surprised if Guillermo Del Toro spent his youth sifting through the dirt, searching for prehistoric fossils.  Watching Del Toro's newest film, Pacific Rim, I connected with that three-foot tall, toe-headed youth.  Though I stand at a staggering 6 feet 7 inches now, I felt very small in the theater, looking up at giant robots fighting 10-story dimensional invaders.  Absent in so many blockbusters is a sense of awe and amazement.  We have become cynical and unimpressed by expensive special effects.  Oh, that space ship just disintegrated in a black hole? Big deal.  That truck transformed into a talking robot.  What's on the next channel?  Yep, we've seen it all and it takes a truly talented director to make us look up and gasp in amazement.  It takes a director like Guillermo Del Toro to make us feel like kids.

All of Del Toro's films deal with themes of childhood in supernatural settings.  In the frightening The Devil's Backbone, a young orphan unravels a ghostly mystery while coming to terms with his own isolation.  In the beautiful Pan's Labyrinth, a small girl escapes into a fantasy world as her country is ravaged by revolution and war.  Even Del Toro's comic book films, Blade II and the Hellboy series, feature monstrous orphan protagonists trying to find their place in a "normal" world.  And now we have Pacific Rim, Del Toro's biggest budget film to date.  While the story doesn't deal with those same childhood themes, it feels like Del Toro's childhood imagination, perhaps our collective childhood imagination, played out on the screen.

The story of Pacific Rim is simple.  Big robots fight big monsters to save the world.  And...that's it.  In a different context, this would be a criticism.  However, after a summer full of films with lame plot twists, uneven characters, and ostentatious direction, it is refreshing to see a straightforward story depicted with such confidence and clarity.  Pacific Rim is basically a mosaic of blockbuster and Anime clichés, but Del Toro embraces them with great affection, giving the film an earnest and fun atmosphere.  True, some jokes die and some lines are drizzled with cheese, but Del Toro knows what his story is and he presents it in a streamlined yet nuanced way.  He also knows that his audience came to see robots punching monsters in the face.  And he gives it to them.

Del Toro has a great eye for scale.  In the Transformers films, Michael Bay never really learned how to capture the scale of his Autobots and Decepticons.  A director with a long history in the visual arts, Del Toro places small human figures next to his fighting machines to truly show their towering height.  The robots and monsters are also often shown from extremely low angles. The director even places his virtual camera on the backs of the shambling monsters, exhibiting their great power.  These seem like simple tricks, but they are ignored by so many action directors.  Del Toro understands that it’s the small things that make a film feel big.
And the action itself is no less big.  When metal clashes with alien flesh, you can feel the impact.  The action choreography is over-the-top, but still grounded by physics.  The computer generated creatures move slowly, with great effort.  As in all his films, Del Toro is fascinated by moving gears.  He shows the turning cogs and pumping pistons. We see what drives these machines and the weight of their power.  The editing moves at a similar pace, and we can actually see what is happening.  Del Toro allows us to relish the beautiful carnage.  This isn't the clashing, confusing mess of Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen, or the epileptic editing of a Christopher Nolan fight scene.  These are confident, exciting tableaus painted by an expert hand.

In his English-speaking films, Del Toro has never been as expert when it comes to directing actors.  That is the true weak point of the film.  As the film's protagonist Raleigh Becket, Charlie Hunnam is disappointing.  I have never understood the hype surrounding Hunnam.  He's good looking, sure, but his voice is annoying and his delivery repetitive. He's like this middle school teacher I had.  Everyone liked him.  The girls wanted to date him and the guys wanted to be like him.  I just sat in the back row making fun of his poor pedagogy. And he couldn't even draw...Sorry.  Hunnam's definitely less annoying than that guy.  It's nice to see Ron Perlman back with Del Toro again.  Perlman has been present since the director's first film, Cronos.  In Pacific Rim, he plays a black market dealer in monster entrails.  He's not in the film much, but he steals all his scenes.  Charlie Day is also funny as a monster biologist who has clearly had too much coffee.

And, finally, the film is truly lucky to have Idris Elba aboard.  Elba portrays Stacker Pentecost, the head of the robot fighting army.  Isn't that a badass name?  It makes Lee Marvin sound like he should be a cashier at Staples.  As always, Elba gives an intense and amusing performance.  He carries himself with an air of great authority and he delivers even the most poorly-written militaristic dialogue with great gusto and skill.  He gets to deliver his own version of Henry V's St. Crispin's Day Speech.  The writing is pretty crappy in comparison to the Bard, but Elba sells it.  I got chills, even though I was laughing.

That's the sign of true skill in Hollywood — a director who can take what appears to be a generic lame property and turn it into something special.  Pacific Rim is by no means Guillermo Del Toro's best film.  In fact, it's probably one of his worst.  Still, compared to the utter detritus that passes for big budget movies these days, it's downright brilliant.  Del Toro hasn't lost touch with his inner child and we're all the better for it.  For two hours, I got to stare up at creatures who exhibit great control and power.  As an adult, when everything still feels pretty out of control, it's a nice feeling.

The Lone Ranger

Growing up in rural Indiana, I didn't receive the most accurate history education.  In that wonderful Red State, most elementary teachers pass on only the most simplified version of history.  Thomas Jefferson was a great guy.  He could write very well.  Thomas Edison was a genius.  He invented the light bulb.  Look at the ceiling; everything would be dark without that forward thinking inventor.  Later in my life, I discovered that these histories were more fiction than fact.  Wait, Thomas Jefferson owned slaves?  That's weird...Thomas Edison was just a dick who stole other people's ideas?  Bummer.  Over time, I learned that the distance between legend and fact is truly large.

Ours is a country built on simplified legends.  The pilgrims landed on Plymouth Rock and became best buddies with the indigenous population.  The founding fathers broke away from England because of a desire for freedom.  And, in the wild, savage lands of the American West, lone gunmen tamed the arid landscape into a prosperous, civilized country.  What a wonderful fantasy.  Here was a time when all men carried shooting irons on their hips.  If we had guns on our hips today, there would obviously be violence in America because the good guys would just shoot the bad guys. Simple.  The Native Americans were all savages so it was only self defense when we so generously gifted them with smallpox-infected blankets.  Wait. . . For many people in America, the Wild West days are days to be longed for.  Times were simpler then, and good Christian men could walk down the street with their heads held high.

The Western can be a dangerous genre because it can reinforce our nationalistic feelings of righteousness and destinies made manifest.  On the other hand, the Western can do so much more.  It can explore the time when half our country was civilized by railroad barons, hard men, and Christian missionaries.  In the stripped-bare environment of the American West, the themes of civilization, law, and nationalism come easily to the forefront. In the great Westerns of John Ford, Anthony Mann, and Sam Peckinpah, the directors consider the blurred line between myth and reality.  Films like The Searchers, Winchester '73, and The Wild Bunch show that America was founded by violent men and that bad guys don't always wear black.

On this Fourth of July, the release of an epic Western was, at first, worrying,  Seeing the trailers for The Lone Ranger, I'll admit that I was skeptical.  I expected this to be some eye-rolling, pro-America trash.  I'm happy to say I was proven wrong.  Gore Verbinski's latest blockbuster displays a critical and nuanced vision of the American West.  While there are some offensive ethnic representations, the Native Americans are more than noble savages or murderous braves and the railroad tycoons have more in mind than just Western expansion.  At a time of year when we celebrate our great nation, it is good to be reminded that our country was founded by strong men stealing the land and resources of weaker men.

Since the ideologies of The Lone Ranger are so pleasing, it is sad that the movie isn't better.  It falls into the all-familiar Hollywood trap of homage overshadowing original narrative.  If you are looking for a mosaic of classic Western references, look no further than The Lone Ranger.  Verbinski makes nods to a number of Western films.  In the beginning of the film, a missionary choir warbles through the hymn "Shall We Gather at the River."  Fans of the genre will remember this hymn from nearly every Sam Peckinpah film.  On his train ride into Texas, Armee Hammer reads a law book, a familiar image from The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance. Hans Zimmer's score takes numerous cues from the films scores of Ennio Morricone.  The film feels like a mash-up of the best of the genre and has nothing new to offer.

The narrative is simple, but narrative efficiency is not the name of the game in The Lone Ranger.  With a clunky, unfunny frame story and weak character exposition stuffed into the first act, the story takes a long time to get up to speed.  It's like some old steam engine trying to chug-chug-chug through a boring story.  Thinking back on the film, not much happens.  There are some shoot-outs and speeding horses, but these action set pieces are few and far between.  They are broken up by what feels like hours of the Lone Ranger and Tonto riding through the desert.  They talk. A lot. And it's boring.

When the action does happen, it is mostly exciting.  This has always been Verbinski's strong suit.  In the original Pirates of the Caribbean, he recaptured the charm of a Douglas Fairbanks or Errol Flynn swashbuckling adventure.  While The Lone Ranger never reaches the heights of that film, it has some memorable moments.  The two heroes outrun a burning, flipping steam-engine.  The Lone Ranger rides his horse, Silver, over buildings and onto the top of a moving train.  Bullets whiz and pop off rocks and iron walls.  Verbinski shows that he still has a firm grasp on action movie filmmaking.

As in all of Verbinski's films, the production design is the true highlight.  Like Ridley Scott, Verbinski jams the frame with costumes, props, and witty details.  Verbinski was lucky to have production designer Jess Gonchor on his team. Gonchor is no stranger to the Western.  Having applied his talents to No Country for Old Men and True Grit, he was the perfect choice for The Lone Ranger.  Every set is filled with visual flourishes and the costumes exhibit more character than the actors.  Gonchor's design for a travelling sideshow/brothel is particularly striking.  Old painted signs span the main thoroughfare and painted ladies swing from the ceiling.  Fire and gaslight give the scene a warm, sepia glow.  The whole film is covered in a fine layer of grit and, like the films of Sam Peckinpah; The Lone Ranger is a very tactile film.  I could feel the heat on my skin and the sand in my shoes.  For all its faults, it is an immersive film.

Verbinski's other strong suit has always been off-beat characters.  Johnny Depp's Jack Sparrow is one of the great original film characters of recent years.  In The Lone Ranger, Verbinski and Depp have attempted to create another weird and funny sidekick in the figure of Tonto.  Depp lends his usual grace and comedic physicality to the role, but Tonto never really gets anywhere as a character.  He comes across more as somewhat racist caricature and his constant goofy gestures become annoying.  Armee Hammer offers no help.  Hammer was decent in The Social Network, but he has failed to impress me since then.  His turn as John Reid in The Lone Ranger is flat and laughable.  True, he is good looking and his teeth are pearly white.  Did they have whitening strips back then?  He delivers his lines in an earnest manner and kills every joke before it leaves his lips.  He has perhaps the best diction I have ever seen.  He bites off every word and he could definitely say "Rubber Baby Buggy Bumpers" ten times fast.  You can sure understand everything he has to say, but you don't really want to.

In the end, it's just bloated and boring.  It's disappointing because Verbinski's Oscar-winning Rango was a wonderful tribute to the Western as well as an entertaining story.  The Lone Ranger could use a sweat suit and trash bags like the wrestlers at my high school used to wear.  Maybe it could sweat off some of the excess and find its narrative again.  Still, it's nice to know that audiences will maybe be asked to think about their history in a more critical way.  Maybe they will pause, sparkler in hand, and consider everyone who has fallen under the march of Western progress.  Or, maybe they'll just strap a shiny gun to their hip and walk around Wal-Mart, just like they did in the Old West.

World War Z

Everyone should really have a zombie preparedness plan.  It's only a matter of time until the shuffling undead crowd our streets.  I know I have my own plan.  When the outbreak hits, I'm going to meet my friends Elise and John at Stone Mountain in Atlanta.  From there we will venture to the woods and live like Swiss Family Robinson.  With shotguns.  I'll be team leader, of course.  A huge ZZ Top beard will bedeck my chin and a ridiculously large revolver will swing low on my hip.  John will be demolitions man/sniper and Elise...she's going to cook.  She makes these amazing cloud cookies and, since I'm pretty sure she's the only one with the recipe, I don't want her fighting those drooling monsters.

Yeah, it's a nice fantasy.  I understand why zombies are all the craze right now.  When the world ends, it all goes back to zero.  Too big a balance on your credit card?  Did you buy one too many pairs of Christian Louboutins?  No problem.  You can wear those babies till the heels come off and no creditors will come calling.  Who cares about how many LinkedIn connections you have?  No one's hiring for entry level or middle management now.  No matter how far ahead or behind we may feel, everything we found to be important is gone.  Survival is the name of the game and, walking through a Wal-Mart, you'll probably pass by the cheap DVD bin and head straight for the batteries and Power bars.  The gaudy commercialism is just an echo of a former world.

Well, I hate to break it to you, but the zombie apocalypse hasn't happened and it probably won't happen for quite some time.  The Wal-marts of the world are still up and running and their shelves are filled...with zombies.  There are zombie videogames, zombie t-shirts, and zombie movies and TV shows.  I've even seen zombie dolls for the morbid little tykes.  We are inundated with the undead and it's getting annoying.

Thus, as I walked into the theatre for World War Z, the film already had some points against it.  Take an oversaturated film genre, give it a screenwriter I despise (Damon Lindelof), and give Marc Forster, one of the most mediocre directors in Hollywood, the helm.  All these things added up to a film I would rather avoid.  Still, I gave it a shot for my man Brad Pitt's sake and, I must say, I was not disappointed.  While it has its problems, World War Z is a competent, big-budget action film.  The story is tight, if a bit predictable. The dialogue is natural, if too expositional at times.  And, surprisingly, Marc Forster knows how to direct a sweeping, big-budget blockbuster.

Back in the early days of the zombie flick, everything was very small.  In the first modern zombie film, Night of the Living Dead, the narrative takes place in and around a little farmhouse.  In the sequel, Dawn of the Dead, the survivors opt for an empty mall, a much larger space. Still, it is one enclosed space.  Even a film like 28 Days Later restricts its environment to London and the surrounding cities.  In the early scenes of World War Z, we know that we are in for a much larger zombie film— perhaps the first "epic" zombie film.  Brad Pitt's Gerry Lane and his family sit in Philadelphia traffic when the outbreak occurs.  Large trucks crunch into one another, cars flip end over end, and hundreds, thousands of running slobbering creatures crawl over the entire mess.  There is more death and destruction in this opening scene than in all the George A. Romero zombie films combined.  Yep, it's big.

And it doesn't stop there.  Pitt's character must travel all over the world to track down the cure for this dangerous infection. Imagine Steven Soderberg's Contagion with 20 times the budget.  That's the plot.  In Max Brooks' novel, there is no central character, and the reader is given only vignettes of the destruction, instead of one narrative.  In Forster's film, this structure is mostly abandoned, but not completely.  As Pitt ventures from the Indian Ocean to South Korea to Israel, we see how different communities have reacted to the viral outbreak.  Pitt acts almost as a travelling narrator, and we feel the influence of Brooks' original story.

That's pretty much all Pitt has to do.  Sadly, there isn't much of a character in Gerry Lane.  He's handsome, smart, and he knows how to duct tape knives to stuff.  And...That’s it.  As always, the movie star is entertaining and likable and, even when his character feels flat, you still want to cheer for the guy.  Considering the rumors that Forster and Pitt stopped talking on the set, it is clear that Pitt is acting alone.  We get to see all his old tricks. My favorite is the one where he feels overwhelmed, looks up, and starts to cry. He does the same in Babel, Legends of the Fall, and The Assassination of Jesse James.  Hey, it works for the guy and Gerry Lane comes across as a loving father who wants to kick some ass.

While Forster attempts to add some sweet character moments between Lane and his family, they are swallowed by the surrounding story.  The film feels like a cross between Zero Dark Thirty, The Bourne Ultimatum, and Day of the Dead.  Forster never has had a very recognizable directorial style and, in World War Z, he clearly borrows his subdued tones and hyper-realistic style from directors like Kathryn Bigelow and Paul Greengrass.  There are moments when the computer-generated effects overcome the realistic tone, but, for the most part, it is all believable and exciting.  Forster clearly understands how too many visual effects can lose an audience's attention, so he sticks to real stunt performances and practical effects.  The zombie actors deserve credit for their shaky and unsettling silent performances.  Many of them look like corpses doing the Robot.  This really is a new type of zombie and, for the first film in a long time, the genre feels fresh.

Still, there is something missing.  Maybe it's the extra hour of story the film crew shot.  Maybe it's actors like Matthew Fox who show up for one scene and clearly have more backstory sitting on a cutting room floor somewhere.  Overall the film feels somewhat thrown together.  Like Michael Cimino's Heaven's Gate or Francis Ford Coppola's Apocalypse Now, this is what is left after 350 million dollars and years of production woes.  The film works, but it seems as if this is all they had to show.  The film fits together as a story, but just barely.  The supposed craziness of the shoot does not translate to the screen as it did with Apocalypse Now.  Instead, World War Z comes across as cold and a bit lifeless.  Pun intended.

I guess it's unfair to judge a film for what happened behind the scenes.  As a goreless and bloodless zombie film, World War Z is just fine.  The film is superior to many of the messy blockbusters of 2013.  The story is simple and the action is exciting.  In the end, Brad Pitt does okay in the zombie apocalypse.  Still, he would probably be better off with someone to bake him cloud cookies.  Sorry Brad, my zombie preparedness plan is much better than yours.

Man of Steel

It's scary being lost.  I often wake up and know with every fiber of my being that I am not doing what I was meant to do.  It is frustrating and terrifying.  Why did I get a Master's if I'm not using it?  Why aren't I married with kids like the rest of my adult friends?  Why do I feel like a 13-year-old in a 29-year-old body?  Like many people, I find myself in the middle of a big old identity crisis.

I suppose that's why I'm so drawn to comic books and superheroes.  Some may say that superhero films are pure escapism.  Who doesn't want to fly or climb walls?   I don't think that's it.  I believe I connect to superheroes because these are characters who have embraced their destiny.  While Lois Lanes and J. Jonah Jamesons attempt to uncover the masked vigilantes' secret identities, for the heroes there is no such mystery.  After years of training or self searching, these crime fighters have found out exactly who they are.  I'm jealous.

In Man of Steel, Zach Snyder's most recent foray into the world of comic books, Superman fights to discover himself in a strange world and, for the most part, he succeeds.  Man, this is a movie.  So few films actually feel like "movies" anymore.  The line between television and film has been blurred so that TV episodes feel like mini films and films feel like long episodes of television.  What does a movie look like?  Well, it looks like this.  

Man of Steel is big.  Like Henry Cavill's pecs, it's really, really big.  Did he do a thousand push-ups a day?  Maybe he injected saline into his chest.  I don't know what he did, but it sure worked . . . no wonder I feel like a 13-year-old.  I gotta get back to the gym . . . . Anyway, this film is an exercise in cinematic excess.  The natural vistas are as broad as anything shot by John Ford.  The action scenes will probably make Michael Bay go back to the drawing board.  The story is epic and brings to mind Wagnerian operas, Biblical heroes, and Greek myths.  It's loud, bombastic, and visually stimulating.

I have to admit, I am not a Zach Snyder fan.  I enjoyed his remake of Dawn of the Dead, but the rest of his oeuvre made me want to quit watching movies.  I saw Sucker Punch at midnight, and I was pretty sure my friends put some acid in my Diet Coke.  I'm not sure it even qualifies as cinema. Even 300 disgusted me.  While so many of my friends marveled at the oiled up muscles of a mush-mouthed Gerard Butler, I tried doing long division in my head to keep myself occupied.  Yeah, Zach Snyder isn't my favorite director.  When I heard he was directing Man of Steel, I did two things; I cried and made sure there wasn't any acid in my Diet Coke.  It had to be some kind of bad trip.

Well, I'm happy to say, Snyder pulled it out with Man of Steel.  It's a solid blockbuster movie.  The shots are dynamic and the action is mind-blowing.  I have never seen the powers of super human beings so perfectly displayed as in this film.  Superman and the villainous Kryptonian soldiers move at staggering speed and punch with frightening might.  Train cars fly through the air and muscly bodies crash through dry wall, concrete, and rebar.  You can feel the epic strength of Superman in every sequence as he breaks the sound barrier and lifts tons of heavy debris.   Unlike in most films today, the action is smart and memorable.

Snyder is lucky to have Henry Cavill to fill the tights of his lead character.  Though his character does come across as flat in a few scenes, for the most part, Cavill plays the role with great ease and charm.  He convinces the audience of his great power with his confidence and ramrod stance.  He is assisted by the cute and snarky Amy Adams.  Adams plays Lois Lane and, while she doesn't have much to do in the film, she is a fitting romantic sidekick for the man with the red cape.  Laurence Fishburne and Christopher Meloni also turn in solid performances as Perry White and Colonel Hardy, respectively.

The two actors who stand out the most are Michael Shannon and Russell Crowe.  I don't really mean that as a compliment.  I think Shannon is one of the finest actors working in film today.  His performances in Take Shelter and Shotgun Stories are true master classes in film acting.  However, in Man of Steel, he sticks out like a sore thumb.  This is Shannon's first enormous Hollywood film, and he has trouble transitioning between acting styles.  It appears that he watched the villainous roles of John Travolta for inspiration.  He yells a lot and stares with frightening google eyes.  Unlike Shannon, Russell Crowe is not new to big Hollywood films.  However, in this film, he simply chews scenery in his best impersonation of Marlon Brando.  He speaks every line like it is the most important thing ever said on Earth or on Krypton.  Still, he does get to ride a flying dinosaur and shoot a big laser cannon.  And, of course, he looks cool doing it.

Everybody and everything look really, really cool.  The film's greatest strengths are its production design and cinematography.  The opening scenes on Krypton rival the world building of Avatar.  Large-winged animals swoop through alien towers and craggy peaks.  The costumes and ships look like they were designed by H.R Giger.  The metal armor and breathing masks come right out of the design for Alien. It's all a bit phallic and vaginal, but maybe no one will notice. The film is cast in muted sepia tones and cool, foggy hues. It looks at once fantastic and hyper-realistic.  From a visual standpoint, the film is damn near perfect.

The script, however, is not so perfect. In fact, it's downright messy.  Though the superhero should struggle to find his identity, the superhero film should not have the same issue.  Unfortunately, that is the case with Man of Steel. Throughout the film, it is clear that screenwriter David Goyer and director Snyder aren't really sure who their protagonist is.  Superman is able to leap tall buildings in a single bound, but the script should not leap large plot holes with a single line. The plot and character arcs are muddy throughout the film and the hero's journey skips around with great abandon.  At the end of the film, I didn't feel like I knew who Superman was or how he had gotten there.

Still, Superman is a hard character to grasp, and I can't fault the filmmakers for stumbling where so many have before.  I may be a little disappointed that Superman hasn't quite solved his identity crisis, but it's nice to know that even a man who can fly feels a little lost sometimes.  

The Purge

In the backroom of my friend's house, there hangs a bent golf club.  Passing by, most people think it means that he's just a bad golfer.  Most would never guess that he bent it busting in someone's windshield.  One night, some punks were trying to steal his neighbor's grill.  Surprisingly, he ran out and foiled the robbery with the help of his trusty golf club.  My friend is even more mild-mannered than me, and that bent golf club hangs as a reminder that even the most non-violent person has a breaking point.

In the home-invasion film, ordinary people find out where those breaking points lie.  In Ingmar Bergman's The Virgin Spring, a devout Christian father finds there is violence in his heart when a group of travelling outlaws comes calling.  In the film's remake, Last House on the Left, two "normal" parents use chainsaws and baseball bats to break bone, crack skulls, and exact revenge on three misanthropes.  In The Strangers, a loving young couple fight for their lives when a group of masked killers terrorize them at random.  And, in James DeMonaco's The Purge, a wealthy family must protect their home and fight for their hold on that spot in the coveted 1%.

I'm sure The Purge looks amazing on paper.  What a great idea for a film.  In the near future, the government sanctions an annual 12-hour killing spree.  Supposedly, this allows citizens to "purge" their pent up aggression and hatred in one violent night.  It feels like John Carpenter could have written this movie.  It has the "what-if" near future setting of Escape from New York and the invasion film narrative of Assault on Precinct 13.  Unfortunately, John Carpenter did not write this movie.  If he had, maybe this film wouldn't be so preachy, boring, and ineffective.

While James DeMonaco proves to be a simple and functional director, he just doesn't have the chops for a film like this.  Some of the scenes are tightly directed and the suspense is palpable, but the remainder of the film seems to be a rehash of old genre gimmicks and cheap scares.  A character walks across the foreground, revealing a killer standing right behind.  Someone hears a sound.  He turns.  He turns back and the killer is there.  It's not scary in the least.  So many of the scares and plot twists are telegraphed from the first scene.  In the beginning of the film, DeMonaco draws special attention to aspects of the house and certain props.  Of course, all of these previewed images come into play in the climax of the film.  Chekov would be proud.  Still, DeMonaco is too obvious in his exposition.  Leave some mystery for us.

The acting is not too laughable, but there isn't much to write home about.  Ethan Hawke is as serious as ever, and his teeth are as crooked as ever. My Dad has an unexplained dislike for Hawke.  Every time he shows up in a movie, my Dad says, "How does this guy keep getting work? He's really weird looking."  Hey, we can't all have perfect teeth, Dad.  Still, Hawke plays the caring yet alienating patriarch well.  Lena Headey is solid as the strong mother and shows off her action training from The Cave and 300.  The kids are fine in their generic roles.  The real highlight is the film's villain, Rhys Wakefield.  The actor has great fun as a sociopathic prep school student. The cadence of his dialogue is strange and off-putting.  He smiles through the whole performance, but you can see the menace underneath it all.

The film's main problem is its message.  Well, its main problem is that it tries to have a message.  At one point, the film attempts to show how violence is not the answer.  Hawke and Headey show that they are above all this killing. You can't put someone out on the street to die, even if it means the death of your family.  So, Mr. DeMonaco, violence is bad right?  Wrong.  In the latter part of the film, Hawke and Headey turn into complete badasses.  They don't just break windshields with golf clubs.  They gun down the invaders with great gusto, blood flying everywhere.  They use axes and knives in disgusting ways.  While Hawke looks sad at the sight of a female corpse, it is momentary and silly. The "message" is uneven, maybe nonexistent.  DeMonaco doesn't know what he's trying to say.

It's a shame, because most home invasion films have some interesting views on revenge and violence.  Sam Peckinpah's Straw Dogs is disturbing as it questions the evil that hides inside the human psyche.  In Bergman's The Virgin Spring, Max Van Sydow attempts to wash the blood off his revenge-soaked hands.  He screams at God, asking how his daughter was allowed to die.  Powerful stuff.  Definitely better than watching Ethan Hawke stumble around looking for an orthodontist.  Can't he afford Invisalign?  In Funny Games, Michael Haneke self-reflexively critiques the violence in media and society.  All of these films leave me feeling uncomfortable, and that is a good thing.  When violence is close to "home" maybe it shouldn't be so fun.

And this film was definitely fun for the audience.  I saw The Purge in a crowded auditorium where the people were cheering and clapping with each gruesome kill.  Watching films like Grindhouse or Dawn of the Dead, I'm the first to join in screaming and laughing.  However, in a film attempting social critique, this is troubling.  Or, perhaps this is a healthy way for us to experience horror and mayhem in a controlled, safe environment.  Maybe we do need to let it out, and horror films allow that.  Maybe films like The Purge allow audiences to purge themselves.

Now You See Me

Who doesn't love a good magic trick?  Lord knows I do.  I even fancied myself a magician at the age of fourteen.  As my parents have done with all my endeavors, they supported my plan to be the next Chris Angel.  Well, without the press-on tattoos, ear gauges, and douchey persona . . . . They bought me the magic rings and the cigarette in the quarter trick.  All the classics.  My dream to make a go at professional trickery quickly went up in a puff of smoke, so to speak.  In Freshman English, we were supposed to demonstrate a process in front of the class.  Most of the jocks showed how to make a peanut butter sandwich.  Pretty fascinating stuff.  I think I might have been better off showing off my sandwichery, because I totally failed in showing off my magic skills.  I was trying to make a quarter disappear, but my hands shook so badly that the coin dropped to the floor, making an echoing clink clink clink.  I ended my presentation with, "And that's how you do magic."  That was the end of my magic career.

It's really no surprise that I was so enamored of magic, considering my lifelong love of cinema.  In the early 20th century, the films of Thomas Edison and D.W. Griffith played in the same vaudeville theaters where Abracadbra men applied their trade.  Early filmmakers like George Melies used the new motion picture camera to perform never-before-seen magic tricks.  Rocket ships crashed into anthropomorphic satellites.  Moon men disappeared in small colored explosions.  At that time, Melies used a simple cut in action to achieve this effect.  Over the last century, cinematic magic tricks have gotten more elaborate, and it is easy to forget that filmmakers and magicians were once close cousins.

Hollywood has not forgotten its relationship with its magical forebears.  While it is not a very common genre, the Magic films show up every few years.  I love them all.  I probably watched Clive Barker's Lord of Illusions 30 times.  It's a pretty bad movie, but you gotta love a private-eye Scott Bakula fighting demonic magicians.  Cinematic gold.  Then there's the much better and much less gory The Prestige.  Christopher Nolan's tale of dueling illusionists is a great period piece mystery that depicts the obsession behind most of these illusory acts.  The Magic film is really about cinema itself.  It's about drawing an audience in, telling them a story, and showing them something they've never seen before.

The main pitfall of the Magic film genre is that the audience knows they are being misdirected.  This is nowhere more evident than in Louis Leterrier's Now You See Me.  From frame one, we are told that nothing is as it seems.  The heroes of the tale, The Four Horsemen, are a group of hip, funny, intelligent magicians.  They use their great gifts to rob from the rich and give to the poor.  It's Robin Hood meets David Copperfield.  Well, not the Charles Dickens book . . . the magician with the big goggle eyes.  Remember he made that tank disappear like 10 years ago?  Anyway, we know that these four magicians are going to outsmart the authorities, the bad guys, and, ultimately, us.  For viewers it's hard to get comfortable watching a film like this.  In every scene, it feels like one more carpet is pulled out from underneath our feet.  Oh, that guy wasn't dead?  Oh, there was a trap door there?  Nothing is stable in this film; the characters, the motivations, even the narrative.  It is hard to really immerse yourself in a film when the director keeps shaking his finger at you.

Director Louis Leterrier may know how to perform a good trick, but that doesn't make him a great director.  This guy's career has run the gamut from good (Unleashed), to bad (The Transporter 2), to god-awful (Clash of the Titans). Seriously, Clash of the Titans gave me a migraine.  Most of the time, the director toes the mediocrity line.  He's like a French, low-class Ron Howard.  The filmmaking is functional and clean.  Dialogue scenes are cut in the normal way, over-the-shoulder to over-the-shoulder.  The camera floats and swoops around the characters without any real motivation, but at least we see what's going on.  Leterrier has no real directorial flourishes, but at least he knows how to stay out of the way of his actors.

It's clear that directing actors isn't Leterrier's strong suit, but he is served well by an entertaining cast.  All the actors have been cast to play their normal roles.  Jesse Eisenberg plays the fast talking, neurotic male lead.  He's like a young Woody Allen with a deck of cards.  Isla Fisher plays the sexy and snarky heroine.  Woody Harrelson rattles off amusing banter with great ease. And, of course, there's Morgan Freeman as the wise old man.  There's not one remarkable performance in the whole film, but there's nothing too laughable.  There are some pretty terrible lines, but the entire cast sells it.

They all play their parts well, but it's still a bit hammy. The movie feels like a Las Vegas show: gaudy, sexy, and fake.  You can feel the essence of Liberace oozing out of this movie.  This fakeness is the film's main problem.  Except for a few occasions, all the magic in the film is accomplished with computer generated effects.  While digital effects artists are really the great grandchildren of the stage magician, I would have preferred to see some real sleight-of-hand in this film.  There is great opportunity for this in Now You See Me, and the filmmakers missed their chance to make a believable yet thrilling film. In one scene, Dave Franco, James' snarky little bro, goes toe to toe with his cop adversary, Mark Ruffalo.  Using his illusionist skills, Franco throws handcuffs onto characters, disappears into curtains, and reappears behind mirrors.  It's really amazing stuff, and I truly wish there were more of it.  Most of the other magic is so outlandish it could only have been done with some keystrokes.

In the end, it's fun.  I enjoyed myself from the beginning to end and, while it's a poorly made film, it's a nice magic trick.  There's no real replay value to Now You See Me, because once the magician shows you how it's done, you lose interest.  Don't worry, I won't ruin the surprise.  It's not much of a reveal anyway.  This feels as though it should have been a January release, but given the poor quality of the Blockbusters this summer, Now You See Me comes out looking pretty good.  $11.75 is pretty steep for a movie ticket, but I don't feel like I was tricked out my money.

Fast and Furious 6

So, I'm a waiter.  It's good work and I love sleeping in every day. One time an old lady grabbed my butt.  Hey, it happens.  I consider it a work hazard.  One of the most important things I've learned in my years slinging drinks and dropping plates is that people want what they pay for.  If some old dude orders a steak sandwich medium-rare, I probably shouldn't bring him a salmon salad with a low-fat raspberry vinaigrette.  I get it.  When I order a bacon cheeseburger, I don't want seared Ahi tuna.  I want my heart-attack sandwich, and I want it nice and juicy.

I feel the same way about films.  If I'm in the mood to think about my place in the universe, then fall asleep, I'll put on Solaris.  Tarkovsky is the cinematic equivalent of warm milk.  If I'm in the mood to sit on the edge of my seat, choke on my Twizzlers, and applaud at great daring-do, I'll put on a Fast and Furious movie.  I'm not going to lie; I love these movies.  They're the equivalent of that great bacon cheeseburger, and director Justin Lin is the ultimate grill-master.  Over the past three films, Tokyo Drift, Fast and Furious, and Fast 5, Lin has created a sleek, streamlined, exciting environment where big men say what they mean and punch who they hate.  Lin has made this series his own in the same way David Yates did with the last four Harry Potter films.  He and recurring screenwriter Chris Morgan know who these characters are and, better yet, what the audience expects.

Lin and Morgan's winning streak continues with Fast and Furious 6.  Man, what a thrill ride.  I know that's a film review cliché.  Whatever, it's how I feel.  The movie is fast, simple, and clean.  The script doesn't do anything groundbreaking, but that is not a problem here.  The word "formula" has become another naughty "f" word in Hollywood.  So many Hollywood Blockbusters try to break the mold; they end up with messy stories and lame characters.  Justin Lin and Chris Morgan have no such fear of formula.  Fast 6 knows what genre it is in and follows the rules to the letter.  There's a bad guy.  He wants to steal a doomsday device.  The good guys have to stop him.  Stuff blows up.  For more examples, see every action movie made between 1984 and 1995.

The film does not simply go through the motions, however.  With each of his Fast and Furious films, director Lin raises the bar on action.  The explosions are bigger.  The crashes are crazier.  What sets Lin's action scenes apart is the childlike glee with which he directs them.  When I was five, I had a favorite spot for playing with my action figures.  It overlooked our staircase and it was perfect for hanging little plastic guys from pieces of my mom's yarn.  I would often tie toy cars to planes and hang the whole thing over the ledge.  My action figures would climb this big piece of swinging wreckage, fighting the whole time.  With Fast 6, it feels like Justin Lin watched my playroom sessions and storyboarded his film.  Tanks crush sports cars and blow up bridges.  Cars hang from planes by mono-filament cables.  What a great action movie word: mono-filament.  That's what Batman uses in his grappling hook.  Awesome.  Sorry...It's all a bit ridiculous, but it works.

As in the previous films, Lin tries to shoot as many of these action set-pieces on set and in-camera as he can.  He grounds the over-the-top action by cutting down on the use of digital effects.  True, we can see the help of computer graphics during many of the sequences, but the majority of the action is performed by real people in real cars.  I don't care how lifelike and realistic digital effects have become; I can always feel the difference when I watch a film.  The action scenes in Fast 6 are so effective because these are real people performing real death-defying stunts.  Since the beginning of cinema, we have marveled at the lithe movements of actors like Douglas Fairbanks and Jackie Chan as well as unsung stuntmen like Vic Armstrong and Buster Reeves.  You really can't replace the skill it takes to jump between moving cars with a matte painting and computer-generated actors.

Yep, Justin Lin uses real stunt men and real actors.  Well, I might not call Paul Walker an "actor"...more a guy who stands there and looks pretty.  Still, he doesn't get in the way of the real stars of this film: Vin Diesel and Dwayne Johnson.  I can't help it; these guys are great.  Along with Jason Statham, these are the only actors keeping the spirit of the 80s and 90s action star alive.  Diesel is like a cross between Lee Marvin and Arnold Schwarzenegger, with his gravelly voice and killer bod.  Johnson looks like he just ate a horse and bench-pressed my Toyota Camry.  I swear his biceps are wider than my thighs.  Next to the action, their budding bromance is the highlight of the film.  Take the scene from Predator where Arnold Schwarzenegger and Carl Weathers shake hands, their arms bulging and veins popping out.  Extend that for two hours.  That's Fast 6.  There's so much testosterone dripping off this movie, I think I actually grew more hair on my chest.  It's funny, considering all these guys are bald.

True, most of the character arcs are clichéd, but they really work in this genre.  There's amnesia, double crosses, and all kinds of cheesy dialogue.  Still, it's done with such gusto, you have to buy it.  There's nothing but sincerity as far as the eye the can see.  It would make old Linus proud, sitting in his pumpkin patch.   There are lines like "Show me how you ride and I'll show you who you are."  Wow.  How Vin Diesel said that without laughing is beyond me.  A lot of it feels like a big budget version Walker, Texas Ranger, but you gotta love it.

It's been a very weak start to the summer Blockbuster season.  Films like Iron Man 3 and Star Trek Into Darkness have shown what happens when a film tries to do too much and accomplishes little.  There's something to be said for a director who knows his strengths and weaknesses.  Tyrese Gibson and Ludacris are there for the comedy.  Vin Diesel is there to perform the greatest head-butt in movie history.  The cars are there to be destroyed and the girls are there to look really sexy. They do. They really, really do.  It's like one big, unhealthy, delicious meal.  Check please.

Star Trek Into Darkness

Growing up, I never really liked Star Trek.  My early childhood was the era of Star Trek: The Next Generation and I didn't have much interest in some bald dude sitting in a chair, giving orders to a tall bearded guy.  I was much more enamored of Jedis dive-bombing giant space stations and lightsaber dueling over windy chasms.  When I reached high school, I felt like it was a little late to hop on the Enterprise bandwagon.  I suppose I was alienated by the size of the Star Trek world.  I didn't know the different classes of Federation vessels.  I didn't know which way the Captain's toilet flushed.  And, I thought Klingon sounded like that one time my brother ate bad tenderloin and blew serious chunks.

One day, Star Trek made sense to me.  After college, a family member was in the hospital, and it was some pretty dark stuff.  Moping at home, I turned on Star Trek V: The Final Frontier.  All my Trekkie friends told me this was the worst of the movies, but I thought I could do with a laugh.  Yeah, a chuckling Vulcan is pretty ridiculous. Wait, they're searching for God?  Eesh.  Still, I was surprised to find that I was enjoying myself.  What's more, I was genuinely moved.  Suddenly, crazily, I had made my own relationship with Star Trek.  What got to me?  What melted my heart to the adventures of the Enterprise?  It was the trinity of Kirk, Spock, and Bones.  The love among and between these characters was infectious.  I don't mean they had crabs or anything. . . I mean that I was touched by these three guys . . . wait, that still sounds bad.  For real, their relationship was a light during dark times, and I'll be forever grateful for that.

I continued to ride the Star Trek train with JJ Abrams' first Star Trek film.  I was impressed by his reboot of the franchise and I thought that he balanced well the big-budget action and character development.  The origin story of the Enterprise was exciting, funny, and truly breathtaking.  I'm sorry I cannot say the same for Abrams' follow-up, Star Trek Into Darkness.

For the most part, I like JJ Abrams as a director.  After watching Super 8, I can clearly see that he wants to be the next Steven Spielberg. That's fine with me.  His admiration for the great director serves him well.  Like Spielberg, Abrams has a strong grasp of widescreen filmmaking.  He knows how to fill the screen with detail and movement while still drawing the eye to the important aspects of the frame.  He does go a bit haywire with the Steadicam and lens flares, but he sure can compose a beautiful and effective shot.

Visually, Abrams is in great form with Star Trek Into Darkness.  All of the action scenes are amazing.  There is a long shootout on the Klingon planet that feels like a mix between John Woo and Walter Hill.  It's visceral and fun, with plenty of unique flourishes.  In one scene, Kirk free-falls through space, dodging some rusty space debris.  I'm pretty sure I played that level in Dead Space, but it sure looks cool on the big screen.  All the vistas of alien planets as well as a futuristic San Fransisco are sharp, detailed, and epic.  If I were watching the film as twenty-five separate scenes, I'd have no problems.

Ultimately, the film feels like climax, after climax, after climax.  Kind of like me in the bedroom . . . sorry, that's gross.  There are no narrative through-lines, so it's not clear if we are at the beginning, middle, or end of this story.  It's just big explosive scenes followed by more big explosive scenes. I can't really blame Abrams here.  He was working with screenwriter Damon Lindelof.  In my opinion, this screenwriter is singlehandedly killing off the Classical Hollywood film script.  Gone are the days of clear character objectives.  Say goodbye to the three-act structure.  Who's the villain and what does he want?  Who cares!  Lindelof and many Hollywood screenwriters today are more interested in twist and turns than in logic and motivation.  In Star Trek Into Darkness, the character arcs are five minutes long.  For Lindelof and co-writers Robert Orci and Alex Kurtzman, there is no such thing as a slow burn.  One minute Kirk is militaristic and vengeful;  the next he's seeing the error of his ways.  The characters have realizations and catharses, but the film doesn't earn them.  It's insane.  Seriously, I'd love to see Robert McKee in a room with these three screenwriters.  He'd bust them up.

While the actors don't have much to work with, they still give some strong performances.  Zachary Quinto is funny and charming as the cold, calculated, yet lovable Spock.  Chris Pine smiles and winks as he stares death in the face.  Zoe Saldana actually makes Klingon sound sexy and less like my sick brother.  I also love Karl Urban as Bones, even though he doesn't have much to do here.  And, for real, it's great to see Peter Weller back at it.  Robocop as a Starfleet Admiral?  I'm in. I'd watch that guy read the phone book.

The best part of the film is really Benedict Cumberbatch.  This guy just showed up out of nowhere two years ago and now he's a cultural icon.  My Mom's even part of his fan club, the Cumberbitches.  Hey, I get it.  The guy made Sherlock Holmes culturally relevant, and he looks like a boss in a long, black coat.  As John Harrison, the film's villain, he's having a great time.  He goes Statham on a lot of dudes and rattles off some truly menacing dialogue, biting at every consonant.  Even though I'm not sure why he's doing anything, he's fun to watch.  Thanks, man.

In the end, it's all too much.  On one hand, a lot happens. On the other, I couldn't tell you the story if I tried.  Like most Hollywood sequels today, Star Trek Into Darkness follows the motto "More, Bigger, Darker."  This worked for films like The Dark Knight and Skyfall, but they had strong, crisp screenplays.  There sure are more explosions in Star Trek Into Darkness, but much less story and character.  The film really doesn't trek anywhere.  It spins in circles and, eventually, crashes to an end.  Hey, I just wanted to spend two hours with my Enterprise friends.  Oh, well.

The Great Gatsby

When you're 29 and single, you go on a lot of first dates.  Well, a few.  Actually, it's been a while.  God I'm lonely...  Anyway, on these rare dates, the dinner conversations vary in subject but usually involve movies.  You can tell a lot about a girl by what movies she likes.  I've been caught many times scoping out a girl's DVD collection. There was this one zookeeper who had only Disney VHS's and Colin Farrell movies.  Also, did I mention she had four cats and they were all named after Colin Farrell characters?  Yeah, I got out of there fast.  To be fair, I'm sure I've scared off a few women with my large collection of slasher movies.  Their loss.

Still, I've made plenty of connections based on shared love of a director or star.  There was one girl who actually liked Dolph Lundgren movies.  I probably should have married her.  Oh well.  When I ask most of my dates what their favorite film is, I hear a few answers repeated, again and again.  There's the inevitable How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days.  I get that one.  McConaughey is 100% beefcake.  Love, Actually?  Great romantic comedy.  Pretty in Pink? Molly Ringwald is my girl.  There is one film, however, that sends me running: Baz Luhrmann's Moulin Rouge.

I saw Moulin Rouge when I was in high school.  At that time, I was involved in a lot of musical theatre, so I went with the flow and did my best to enjoy the film.  Seriously, a musical theater high schooler saying he doesn't like Moulin Rouge is like a film Master's student saying he can't stand the work of Stanley Kubrick.  Don't worry, I love Kubrick.  Now that I'm out of high school and not singing Rodgers and Hammerstein anymore, I can admit how I feel about Moulin Rouge.  It's ugly, garish, and poorly made.  The visuals give me a headache and the popular song mash-ups give me a wicked vertigo attack.  Following up Moulin Rouge with the even worse Australia cemented Baz Luhrmann as my least favorite working director.

I tried my best to go into The Great Gatsby with an open mind.  I suppose that's every critic's challenge— to go see a movie you don't want to see and look at it as objectively as possible.  Well, I'm shocked.  This gaudy gem of excess is Luhrmann's worst film yet.  Who thought to greenlight this film?  Asking Baz Luhrmann to direct The Great Gatsby is like asking Michael Bay to direct Moby Dick.  Although, it would be cool to see The Rock as Captain Ahab and Shia Labeouf as Ishmael.  Wait, never mind.  That's a terrible idea.

As usual, Luhrmann places great emphasis on the visuals.  I won't lie; the guy can achieve some striking, beautiful images.  There is no control to these images, though. The visuals are so sugary, I'm worried I might develop diabetes.  I feel as if I just ate a five-pound bag of Reese's Pieces.  Luhrmann took the Gilded Age a bit too literally, so everything shines and glitters like some priceless metal.  The majority of the film is also shot in soft focus, probably to give it a Classic Hollywood aesthetic.  This effect grows old quickly and makes the eyes heavy.  I didn't fall asleep, I swear.

How could I fall asleep?  The film is so loud.  The images are loud and the music is loud.  Instead of using original musical pieces from the 1920s, Luhrmann's employs more of his beloved mash-ups.  The techno version of the Jitterbug is true cacophony.  The soundtrack is atrocious and filled with contemporary Rap music.  In an attempt to be hip, Luhrmann sabotages his audience's immersion into the film.  These modern songs are so jarring, I felt kicked out of the story.  I declare, watching flapper girls dance the Charleston to Kanye gives me an anachronistic headache.

As in his other films, Luhrmann seems to have more of an interest in sights and sounds than character and narrative.  From the first frame of the film, the acting is stilted and flat.  Tobey Maguire, who can be quite decent when directed well, turns in a poor performance.  His voiceover and narration are laughable and are made all the worse by the fact that he is reading from Fitzgerald's book.  I'd rather hear Kevin James read James Joyce.  Well, maybe not.  Joel Edgerton, an actor of great skill, is wasted in the film.  He barks and drinks and plays a really bad guy.  Even Carey Mulligan is disappointing.  The actress I loved in Never Let Me Go and Drive plays a boring, doe-eyed Daisy.  It's very embarrassing.

Leonardo Dicaprio does his best to fill Gatsby's shoes.  Physically, he looks the part, with seersucker suit and swept back hair.  If the film were silent, it might be believable.  However, once Leo opens his mouth, it all falls apart.  As usual, Dicaprio is very intense, but this doesn't work for Fitzgerald's titular character.  I don't remember Gatsby yelling and crying in the book, but he sure does a lot of both here.  He also finishes every sentence with "Old Sport."  True, this is part of the narrative but it becomes annoying after its fiftieth utterance.  Like Luhrmann, Dicaprio seems to be yelling, "I'm Jay Gatsby!  I live in the 1920s!"  Dicaprio's ham-fisted acting mixed with Luhrmann's ham-fisted directing makes for cinema's first ever ham-handshake.

The director luckily had a brilliant book on which to base his film.  Even when the film is ugly and laughable, it is somewhat easy to shut out the noise and just watch Fitzgerald's evocative tale.  Still, it doesn't feel like the director read the same book that I read in high school.  Luhrmann read the book and saw a tragic romance.  I read it and saw a critical look at American ambition.  The film misses a real opportunity to make the film relevant today.  Financial corruption and misled ambition are daily themes in The Wall Street Journal. However, Luhrmann draws no connection to our contemporary world.  Well, he did put the Rap music in...

There is no connection to contemporary America because Luhrmann's 1920's America isn't real itself.  Luhrmann doesn't make period pieces; he makes Science Fiction.  The amount of computer effects mixed with the over-the-top set and costume design make Gatsby feel like a Steampunk comedy.  Fitzgerald's book is a quiet book with loud ideas.  Luhrmann's film is a loud film with no ideas.   I'm sure some Luhrmann fans will enjoy this film.  I'm just saying that if a girl mentions it on a first date, I'm going to the bathroom...and sneaking out the window.