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With no explanation The Hurt Locker starts off amidst a moment of extraordinary anxiety.  A U.S. bomb-squad task force is in the midst of weighing their options.  Just a few hundred yards ahead of them on an abandoned Iraqi street lies potential instantaneous death.  It is their job to approach it, disarm it, and return to base unscathed.  This fear of death looms over the scene.  Little noise is heard aside from light dialogue.  Although the set is simple, the visuals are a complex blend of real and imagined anxiety.  The camera, to great effect, is tremendously shaky.  It helps to transport us inside these men’s minds.  The barren landscapes all appear to be minefields, ridden with a million ways to die, and no expectation of forewarning.  Visually, this is without a doubt one of the most immersive war films ever made.

After this first scene we get to meet the characters.  After being made to feel each and every nuance of perturbation from their perspective, you’d think that there would be something equally engaging going on under the hood.  Unfortunately, with lines of dialogue like, “Every time we go out it’s life or death; we roll the dice,” the characters we are made to care so much about quickly devolve into shallow stereotypes.

In between every action scene is one of lockdown dialogue.  Character development is delivered this way in a form best expressed as loutish exposition.  Each of the half a dozen characters has a single dimension developed.  Staff Sergeant William James (Jeremy Renner) is a seasoned bomb diffuser with his own reckless, yet no nonsense approach to his work.  Specialist Owen Eldridge (Brian Geraghty) is a sniveling coward who, after years in active combat, still winces at the thought of actual confrontation.  Sergeant JT Sanborn (Anthony Mackie) is a by-the-book ruffian who is frustrated by his new CO.  As the movie progressed, these soldiers made startling, yet entirely predictable changes for no particular reason.  The dramatic turning points play out like they were written for the original outline, unrelated to any other moments in the film.  Such are entire subplots within the movie.  James makes the occasional reference to his own mixed feelings on fatherhood.  He then has three encounters with a young boy, which are meant to affect his feelings on his own son.  This is the point where a change is supposed to be observable and a commentary on said change is supposed to be made.  Any attempts at having the characters develop over the course of the film were inconsequentially trite.

As I watched The Hurt Locker, certain patterns began to make themselves painfully obvious.  When two men are gathered together, they talk; when more then two men gather together, they are either fighting, about to fight, or about to blow up.  It’s a pity that each incredible action scene was so easy to anticipate.

At some point even the incredible action turns into clichés, as well.  In order to keep the tension climbing in an already adrenaline filled movie, extra elements needed to be added to later action scenes to make them even more intense than their preceding bomb diffusions.  It becomes harder and harder to connect with the characters as their dealings become more and more overblown.  Case in point: at some point Will James gets sucked into a revenge side plot.  He pulls a sweatshirt on, and then proceeds to chase down run after his invisible enemies in the night.  This action simply feels like it’s meant for a different movie entirely (perhaps one starring Daniel Craig).  Later on there’s a moment where James’ squad approaches a fresh detonation.  As chaos reigns around them, James tells his squad that through pure intuition, he knows that those parties responsible are still in the vicinity.  Like a bad episode of Law & Order, James leads his men through grainy, poorly lit darkness, only to emerge at a fork in the road with three alleyways, a perfect number for three men to explore to ideal dramatic effect.  These moments where James does something reckless and it turns out to be prophetic seem to ruin the entire point of the movie.  One of it’s major theses, “war is a drug,” seems at odds when every time the supposed “junkie” tries to get his adrenaline fix, he ends up having some type of lucky success.  Now multiply that times the hundreds of bombs our protagonist has allegedly diffused.  Every time, William James, the reckless prophet comes out on top.  That’s realism, folks.

Amid these terribly flawed scenes there is one that breaks from the format, and stands out as one of the most brilliant combat moments ever filmed.  Ralph Fiennes shows up as a British contractor for a single scene in which one of the perfect paradoxes of war is on display.  Although vigilant to the point of paranoia, James’ team is completely caught off guard by an enemy sniper.  The scene plays out with the same suspense that is present in the opening scene, and is truly incredible to experience.

In the end, The Hurt Locker falls into the same trap as movies like Requiem For A Dream.  Incredible technique alone might allow an audience to see through a character’s eyes, but if there’s little or nothing behind said eyes, then there’s not really a lot to connect to, is there?

-Paul Brinnel

Daigo Kobayashi (Masahiro Motoki) is pathetic at best, and downright self-absorbed at worst. In these tough economic times, he’s naïve enough not to realize that his orchestra can’t continue playing for near-empty houses, and yet hard-headed enough to sell his cello and abandon doing what he loves. Like thousands of unemployed people, he returns to his hometown, and responds to a “help wanted, great pay, no experience needed” ad in the newspaper. But instead of working hard at a gritty job and being thankful just for making ends meet, he is greeted as the Chosen One by master undertaker Ikuei Sasaki (Tsutomo Yamakazi), whose idea of job training is providing extra pay and flattery. Daigo’s new job as a ritual caretaker for dead bodies gives him such a spiritual revelation that nothing else matters to him anymore, including his cello career, his wife (who’s carrying his future child), and his anguish toward the father who left him. Daigo has lots of problems in his life, but he’s so apathetic and self-absorbed that he doesn’t let any of them actually bother him, and they wind up fixing themselves anyway.

In a long montage of Daigo passionately playing a simple song from his childhood, we get the impression that he has discovered powerful new emotions within himself, and plays more passionately. Maybe he has had some sort of epiphany that’s allowed him to play better. He values this sense of fulfillment so much that he’d be willing to lose his wife over it.

While playing the grandest of symphonies before the thinnest of audiences, Daigo at least could have paid attention to the lyrics. In the second verse of the “Ode to Joy” (in internet-quality translation), Schiller writes: “Whoever has created An abiding friendship, Or has won A true and loving wife, All who can call at least one soul theirs, Join our song of praise; But those who cannot must creep tearfully Away from our circle.” Daigo loves his wife Mika (Ryoko Hirosue) dearly, as long as she does everything to accommodate his needs and he doesn’t have to go out of his way to accommodate hers. After his first tough day on the job, I’d expect Daigo to tell Mika something on the order of, “this job is tough but rewarding; I’m happy that we’re making it here in these tough times; working with dead people makes me appreciate you just for being alive, etc.” A loving silence could also convey such emotion. We do get a silence, but of the “I had a hard day—let’s have some quick sex in the kitchen” variety. To Daigo, his “true and loving wife” (carrying his unborn child) is nice to have around, but she is expendable. The pain and yearning for his father causes a little more of a problem, but nothing that a few pebbles can’t solve. Overall, Daigo pursues his mystical journey at the expense of his family.

Which brings us to Ikuei Yamakazi, the carnivorous cleric. I can understand having pride in one’s job and finding meaning in it even if it has a social stigma attached to it. But only an arrogant blowfish would interpret a reply to a “help wanted—good pay, no experience needed” ad as a sign of fate. Even the secretary (who merely answers phones, and does not engage in any of the holy rites) does this not as a decent 9-5 gig with some overtime, but because she also buys into the hokus-pokus. While I was certainly moved by how Daigo learns how to respect the dead and comfort the living (who are the only ones who really matter anyway), we only get to see the most extraordinary of cases, and never business as usual. Whenever the Chosen One performs a funeral, he either turns frowns into smiles and reconciles deep family conflicts or causes anguish by using the wrong kind of eyeliner. These types of extreme moments come in any career, but it is the less dramatic moments that are more interesting and more revealing. Take the office sequences of Ikiru, a great Japanese film that actually has something to say about death, as case in point. And by the way, the off-key song of a monophonic amateur can convey a lot more emotion than the choreographed song of the stereophonic professional.

-Robert Henderson

The opening title card informs us that Public Enemies takes place in 1933, which is apparently the golden age of bank robbery. After reading this note we know what we’re in for. Michael Mann is bringing us back to the Great Depression. Not to a time when hardworking families suffered and the honest man couldn’t get a break, but when bandits ruled America, robbing banks in style, wanting to rule the world. And if it wasn’t for the annoying antics of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, we might still be privileged to live in a world with great men like John Dillinger. As played by Johnny Depp, Dillinger is the essence of cool. He wears pinstriped suits, perfectly shaped fedoras, and rose tinted glasses. Behind those glasses is a pair of eyes that views the world as his for the taking. They fail to see the boundaries of right and wrong. Behind his eyes is a brain. Maybe. I’m never quite sure what Dillinger is thinking. I know he likes movies, fast cars, whisky, and the dopey hat check girl Billie Frechette. He states these pleasures to Billie in a spurt of dialogue that is delivered with confidence and fluidity. In fact, all of the dialogue is spoken this way. What are meant to be scenes of conversational dialogue, even intimate scenes between Dillinger and Frechette, come across as historical figures in a high school debate. It’s not that Dillinger isn’t thinking, it’s that he was written not to have or need a brain. He’s like the scarecrow without the admirable ambition. When he meets with his associate Frank Nitti (Bill Camp) who used to help him hide from those men with badges who keep chasing him for some reason or another, he finds that Nitti is now running a lucrative bookmaking organization. Nitti attempts to explain that what Dillinger makes from an entire bank heist, Nitti makes every day. Dillinger looks angry and confused. He doesn’t get it. He would realize that he doesn’t need to stick up bank tellers to steal money, if he only had a brain.

I’m not quite sure what director Michael Mann wants me to take away from this version of Dillinger’s story. There are various allusions to Dillinger as a folk hero. He robs from the bank, but makes sure that the civilians receive their money. Is Dillinger making some social statement against the corrupt powers of the government? Well if he is, he never admits as much. Perhaps he just likes being a celebrity and realizes that if he treats civilians with respect he’ll be better liked. He blatantly tells Billie, “I rob banks.” However, Dillinger is lacking the motivation or general purpose of that line as it was proclaimed twice in Bonnie and Clyde. The eponymous gangsters of that film declared that statement as if it were an honor. They were counter-revolutionary figures, living off youthful exuberance, fetching nervousness, and a distinctly proclaimed social conscience. Dillinger, instead, echoes a different gangster in his proclamation to want to be, “top of the world,” conjuring up the image of James Cagney screaming his lungs out, and about to be burnt to a crisp in White Heat. Mann is just referencing other gangster movies, bringing with him nothing new, besides the fact that this film is shot in a high definition video, and what we’re left with is a protagonist without any ambitions or purpose for existence.

Being a Michael Mann film, showing the gangsters in not enough, we also need a grotesque portrait of the FBI. Mann is obsessed by opposition, whether it be cops and robbers (Heat), Colonial and Native American (Last of the Mohicans), or professional boxers (Ali). Unfortunately, Mann doesn’t spend the time developing both stories as he did in Heat. Instead, we’re left with a portrayal of J. Edgar Hoover (Billy Crudup) as a neurotic mess. A man in a tight-fitted suit, with greasy hair, filled with nothing but rage. His star pupil is Melvin Purvis, who focuses all his efforts on capturing public enemy number one, John Dillinger. Christian Bale plays Melvin Purvis, or more appropriately delivers his lines forcefully. Bale, as previously shown in The Dark Knight, possesses the uncanny ability to diminish a co-leading role into a marginal supporting one. Little is revealed about Purvis besides that he wants to get Dillinger. Dillinger and Purvis first meet after Purvis initially catches Dillinger, who escapes from two prisons in this film, although Mann never shows him coordinating these plans. They say a few words; Dillinger gets the last laugh, end of story. The next time they meet is in the film’s centerpiece, an elaborate ambush on Dillinger and his associates in the woods. Among Dillinger’s associates include Baby Face Nelson (Stephen Graham), presented to justify the plurality of the title. Nelson is less developed here than he was in the Coen Brothers surrealistic musical, O Brother, Where Art Thou? At least in that feature Nelson was allowed to indulge his inner killer by shooting cows on the side of the road.  In this film he’s barely a presence; more talked about than seen. Overall, the shootout in the woods doesn’t work. The exterior scenes are too chaotic to follow, and the interior scenes in the cabin are just poorly photographed. Mann uses source lighting, allowing the room to be coated in orange, which makes these fearless gangsters look like oompa loompas.

One character, very drunk, makes just about the worst James Cagney impression I’ve ever heard. That’s what this movie is. It’s a Universal film pretending to be a revisionist rendition of the Warner Bros. Gangster films. It’s a bad impression of William Wellman’s film The Public Enemy, starring Cagney. If only it had been more homage than revision. This film could have used the other’s gritty realism, instead of the fantasy world in which Public Enemies comfortably resides. I also wouldn’t have minded if someone had shoved a grapefruit in Billie Frechette’s face when she began to cry.

-Jason Bardin

Science fiction as a genre has pretty much been dead for the past eight years.  Duncan Jones has attempted to revive the genre with his directorial debut, Moon.  Unfortunately, this attempted reinvigoration quickly devolves into nothing more than a regurgitation of nearly every sci-fi movie since 1968.

The movie starts with Sam Bell (Sam Rockwell) alone, finishing up the last two weeks of a three-year stint with a lunar mining company.  His only companion is a computer, Gerty (voiced by Kevin Spacey).  Sam of course has the occasional hallucination, but such is moon-cabin fever.  After an atypical event interrupts his established routine, Sam ends up finding himself trapped inside his humble abode with a sickly doppelganger.

At this point in the story you’d really expect some twists.  Unfortunately, none ever come.  The conspiracy is figured out halfway through the film, and the rest is spent boringly pacing around the outpost trying to figure out what to do with the rest of the movie.  Interestingly, the biggest twist is when we find out that a single element isn’t ripped off from another movie.  (SPOILER: Gerty isn’t just HAL’s younger brother, he’s a boring, motiveless computer.)

I can only assume Duncan Jones’ original outline to his producer read something like: “Start with 2001, add a half cup Silent Running, a pint Wall•E, and a pinch of Alien.  Whisk until The Sixth Day starts to take form then just keep pouring in Solaris until you hit the 90 minute mark.  (And if you’re feeling particularly festive, you can even garnish it with a single leaf of Midnight Cowboy.)”

Sam Rockwell tries really hard to build two individually interesting characters that have an inherently conflicted dynamic.  Unfortunately, the movie just doesn’t give him an opportunity to build their relationship in anything more than staggered uninteresting dialogue.  There’s an elephant in the room as soon as the two characters meet, and it’s addressed with complete casualness.  If someone meets an identical version of himself, chances are, they aren’t going to treat them like the new kid on the playground.

In the end, Jones tries to tie everything together with a profound statement, an apparent conclusion we should all draw from this movie: (Sam to Gerty) “We’re not programmed.  We’re people.”  This attempt at dramatic social commentary falls flat.  This whole movie falls flat.  Moon is nothing more than a tepid retread through familiar yet emotionally devoid waters.

-Paul Brinnel

It’s sometimes the mark of a masterpiece to set up a fascinating plot and group of characters at the beginning of a film, only to throw them away for something even better.  The first half hour of Psycho could’ve been continued to make a good (who knows, maybe even great) movie about an alienated office worker on the run with $40,000.  Synecdoche, New York could’ve been a good family drama about a sick theater director with weird poop and a failing marriage whose life was turned around by Fluorostatin TR.  Hitchcock and Kaufman took huge risks by shifting their plots so drastically, and produced masterpieces.  Julia, however, takes a fatally wrong turn when it changes from an honest and extremely well-acted story of addiction to a drawn-out and clichéd thriller.

I want to know more about the daily lives of the destructively alcoholic Julia (Tilda Swinton), her mysterious neighbor Elena (Kate del Castillo), her saintly ex-boyfriend Mitch (Saul Rubinek), and Elena’s observant but still childish son Tom (Aidan Gould).  The performances of Swinton and the supporting players were so strong that there is no doubt in my mind that they were capable of making a movie as gritty and honest as The Wrestler, giving us a real window into Julia’s world rather than a cursory glance.

What is accomplished by denying us true character development, and instead taking the movie into the realm of the implausible?  We see a few cycles of Julia’s drinking binges and mornings after, one scene in her office, and one scene at an AA meeting, a few scenes with Elena, and a few scenes with Mitch, but this isn’t enough to really get a good idea of who any of them really are. I suppose you could make the case that we learn about Julia from when she takes off her mask, where she points her gun, and how she chooses to deal with the suitcase full of money.  But that’s the Julia who inhabits an implausibly exciting world, not the Julia who could be living down the street.  At first I thought that Elena would remain mysterious throughout much of the movie, and that I’d have the joy of trying to piece together who she really is.  Unfortunately, all of the mystery was resolved within fifteen minutes.  I’d rather see more of Mitch trying to save Julia by warning her in his living room than by negotiating with her in Tijuana.

As slow and clichéd as the last hour and a half (or so) of the movie becomes, a few parts of it made it a little closer to bearable than it otherwise would’ve been.  In a very impressive performance, Gould captures perfectly the phase of childhood when a kid understands what’s going on around him, but nonetheless is still a kid.  Though the whole movie collapses along with the border fence, that shot was an especially effective transition.  It was also nice to be reminded of Greed when the film took us to the California desert.  You know what? Why not just watch that instead?  Not only does it allow its characters to develop, but if you like gun-pointing and lots of cash, you can find them there too.  How horribly ironic it is that so many of the best parts of Greed were cut, and so many of the worst parts of Julia were allowed to stay.

-Robert Henderson

This movie opens up with Burt Farlander (John Krasinski) and Verona De Tessant (Maya Rudolph) in the act of coital foreplay.  With his discerning sense of smell, Burt realizes that his longtime girlfriend is pregnant.  Cut to the title card displaying the movie’s title.  Thus it has begun.

This quick opening sets the tone for a beautifully paced, skillfully developed character study artfully crafted by the great Sam Mendes.  Mendes’ last film, Revolutionary Road addressed a couple similarly surprised by a pregnancy, albeit strictly within a dramatic drama.  Within the aforementioned film, not even in the poignant moments were there ever any sense of joy, as much as the terrible anxiety of waiting for the next tragedy to strike.  Away We Go however, has a spectacular lightness in tone that is wholly uncharacteristic of the typically bleak Mendes.

The basic story is a series of vignettes where Burt and Verona travel around the country having encounters with a colorful cast of characters.  Each encounter with a new couple introduces a new perspective on becoming parents.  Each encounter is incredibly distinct with each new family introduced serving both as comic material and tragedies of misdirection.

Away We Go isn’t simply a comedy.  It isn’t simply a drama.  It is meant to depict life; it insightfully represents all of its ups and downs.  Through their humor, we see each characters’ true pathos revealed.  When Burt jokes with Verona, there’s always a wonderfully apparent motive, which is most of the time an attempt at cheering her up.  Conversely, when Lily (Allison Janney) jokes about her kids’ physical shortcomings we can tell that its her way of justifying the oration of her own shallowness.  With some of the more zany characters, such as LN (pronounced “Ellen”) (Maggie Gyllenhaal), all of their funny lines are meant to be reflections of their own misguidance, which sometimes can be just as funny as it is sad.  In an almost Freudian way (i.e.Wit and its Relation to the Unconscious) this movie reminds us that any need for humor is mostly used to compensate for feelings of sadness, anxiousness, awkwardness, or other feelings of discomfort.

As a whole, this movie is quite incredible, but this is certainly due to the tremendous strength lying within each of its parts.  I laughed harder than I have from any film this year, but I simultaneously felt extremely touched by the simple problems of the people on screen.  A level of poignancy is reached that can only be found in films that show life within the reality that there are both good and bad things going on, more than likely simultaneously.  The language in this movie is quite foul at times, but it never once feels offensive.  It is all used within such loving context, as a simple means of venting about other bigger problems within a given character’s life.  Together Krasinski and Rudolph create a magnificent chemistry on screen that manages to radiate warmth and the utmost Eros, even in the absence of all eroticism.  So much love is felt with only dialogue as a means of conveyance.  This script fit the actors with such fluidity that the entire movie feels like a series of completely spontaneous dialogues.

Most criticism for Away We Go has been at an alleged superiority complex within Burt and Verona.  These claims are truly baseless.  Both characters express doubts of their own lives, and don’t ever hint at any self-appointed eminence.  Burt’s charm and wit come from his pure benevolent compassion for Verona, and his inherent courtesy for all those around him.  He’s a smart, nice, likable guy.  Verona is possibly smarter than Burt, but not nearly as self-assured at times.  They have a great understanding between the two of them that isn’t seen in any other on-screen couple during the film.  Does this make them better than everyone?  If the issue is really that they are just a little bit better adjusted, or just a little bit luckier, or even just a lit bit more in love, than what’s there to be mad about?

My recommendation is that everyone should try to see this movie.  It’s an absolute joy to watch, as it manages to stay funny whilst building poignancy throughout.  I sincerely hope that Away We Go secures one of the ten Best Picture nominations this year.  Thankfully for the Academy, Juno has already proved to us that indie comedies with dramatic elements are still in contention.

As a final note: Dear Sam Mendes- Stay Upbeat.  It suits you.

-Paul Brinnel

At first I didn’t think that I could be sympathetic toward the plight of three wealthy siblings who have the onerous chore of deciding how to dispose of their extensive inheritance, which consists of a house and art collection that once belonged to a successful artist. While most of us leave behind heaps of junk headed straight to a garbage dump, nearly everything that Hélène Berthier (Edith Scob) leaves behind, down to the smallest vase, has a potential home waiting for it in a museum or private collection. The sensible thing to do would be to donate a few major pieces to museums for posterity’s sake, keep a few personal items for sentimental value, and sell the rest. As she anticipates her death, Hélène not only wishes, but knows that this is how things will play out. After all, people are much more motivated by economics than by art or memory.

To Hélène’s son Frédéric (Charles Berling), the inheritance isn’t just beautiful and valuable, but allows the family to remember and to re-live the house’s past summers as a Romantic oasis, where life is ruled by artistic considerations, and not economic ones. As desperately as Frédéric tries to convince the public, his family, and himself that people are not beholden to economic laws, his case is untenable. His brother Jérémie’s (Jérémie Renier) utility would be maximized by using his share of the inheritance to support his career in international business by starting a new life in China, complete with a new vacation home in Bali. While his sister Adrienne (Juliette Binoche) does have an affinity for art, she prefers the contemporary variety, and needs cash to bolster her career as a designer in New York. Even Frédéric finds that his seemingly infinite love for two paintings has a price tag associated with it.

But is it really the things themselves that are so important to Frédéric, or the activities that surround them? He can visit some of his mother’s most prized possessions at the Musée d’Orsay (which produced the film) whenever he wants, and all of the public can enjoy them with him. The problem with the museum is that it is calm to the point of lifelessness. The objects of art are behind glass, the sunlight shines unceasingly through the skylights, the tourists quietly walk through unmoved, and the music (very important in this film) is mellow. Frédéric not only wants to save the house, but he wants to prevent it from turning into a museum. It is not just the objects that make the house, but the fact that children are playing in the garden (with a frantic camera emphasizing their activity), vases are filled with flowers, and the whole family sits down to lunch together.

I was most struck by this film when I realized that it wasn’t about economics, art, or the struggle between the two. I will even be bold enough to say that the film isn’t really about memory either. The film is about how we must play our own roles in life, and how, in a Walt Whitman sense, there is a beauty and dignity to nearly every activity, as long as we do something and, as the cliché goes, are true to ourselves. From the beginning of the film, Hélène realizes that her role as a woman at the end of her life is to contemplate to herself and to get out of her children’s way. Jérémie does what a man who wants to get ahead in business and raise a family should, and there’s nothing wrong with that. We cannot condemn Adrienne for trying to advance her career and begin life with a new husband. We can only go so far in chastising Frédéric’s daughter Sylvie (Alice de Lencquesaing) for her nonconformist boyfriend, cheap liquor, pot, and bubble gum pop. After all, she is a teenager. Frédéric will never find peace until he realizes that he is a father (it was easy both for him and for the viewer to forget over the course of the film) and economist, and not an artist or art collector. He must allow himself to see that he can behave rationally without betraying his family heritage.

If, as I hope, you enjoy Summer Hours, keep on the lookout for a possible sequel dealing with Adrienne’s life in New York. It will be interesting to see what she does with her mother’s tea set.

-Robert Henderson

It’s a good thing Billy Wilder released Sunset Blvd. in 1950.  Another three years, and chances are he would have had to have the following sit-down with his producer:

“Now Billy, the guys and I were thinking.  The market being what it is, these kids are coming to the movies expecting certain things out of their movies.  Well, I’ll cut to the chase.  Wouldn’t the ending be all the more spectacular if we could get more of a jump from the audience at certain moments?  Just imagine.  The kids are already on the edge of their seats and then, BOOM, old Norma pops out to within an inch of their face and they all scream, and then she screams: ‘All right, Mr. DeMille, I’m ready for my close-up,’ then we see her stare ya straight in the eye!”

Not a single great film of the 1950′s (a.k.a. Golden Era of 3D) is in 3D.  Great artists for whatever reason chose not to utilize the day’s gimmicks to supplement their already great movies with cheap thrills.

I saw Up in Disney Classic 2D followed a week later by Disney Digital 3D.  It was absolutely breathtaking both times.  3D is never used as a gimmick and is never in the way of the experience.  Nothing ever flaunted the 3D, and there were long stretches during which I stopped even thinking about it.  It maybe took 15 minutes to get used to the slight motion blur inherent in 3D.  (I assume if I were to watch more films in 3D I would eventually cease to notice said motion blur.)

My final conclusion is that it really doesn’t matter how you see a film.  As long as it doesn’t need 3D to support any gags or gasps, then it’s really just one more frill the theater can charge you for.  Undoubtedly, it’s also another subtle way to combat piracy.  If the pirates don’t have 3D cameras, then it’s pretty hard for them to pirate said experience.  At the end of the day, a great artist can create great things.  When movies operate at this level, nothing can stand in their way.  Now let’s give James Cameron a chance to prove me otherwise.

-Paul Brinnel

Steven Soderbergh is a very interesting man.  His last film, Che was a four and a half hour masterpiece.  Never boring, never dull, I not once found myself looking at my watch.  The Girlfriend Experience, however is a painfully long 78 minutes.  The movie doesn’t flow like Che; it just sits there, stagnantly awaiting some sort of justification for its own existence that never quite comes.

Famed adult movie star Sasha Grey proves to us once again that porn stars can’t act.  She is virtually emotionless.  No, this does not add to her character.  Some could be inclined towards arguing that she is living such a depraved existence that she no longer experiences pleasure, therefore that should be self-evident in her acting (or lack thereof).  To people who thought her “minimalistic” performance works with this theme, I say that they are missing the point of watching movies in the first place.  Things happen.  Yes, things do indeed happen in this movie (albeit few).  Still, we see no reaction brew inside of this woman.  Even in the film’s (relative) emotional climax we see her react like a crappy community theater actor to the dashing of the little joys remaining in her life.  I can’t pity a woman who doesn’t react to things happening around her.  If she doesn’t seem hurt, than why should I feel bad for her?

Interestingly Soderbergh chooses to take a simple story, and convolutes it by presenting the linear story out of sequence, but without any way of knowing where in time any given scene takes place.  Yes, this blatant confusion of the sequence of events can work (i.e. Pulp Fiction), but it just doesn’t here.  Certain parts are even shot on a video camera like a reality TV show, and are similarly painful to watch.  There is not much going on in terms of story, and no fancy or confusing devices are going to hide that fact.

In conclusion, this movie feels long even though it is exceedingly short.  It is not in any way enjoyable to watch, which is the fault of the directer, editor, and certainly the actors.  This movie is quite simply bad.  I recommend saving your money or just watching Che again.

-Paul Brinnel

It’s a beautiful day. Flowers are blooming, birds are singing, and houses are flying. Summer has arrived, and with it comes an array of loud films filled with explosions and your favorite comic book characters. ’Tis the season when studios make their money by unleashing sequels and prequels of their cherished franchises to an all-consuming, fanboy public. Adults are busy hibernating until the fall. While continued franchises like Star Trek, Transformers, and Terminator compete with each other on a level of pure cacophony, Pixar Animation Studios presents yet another film that is more quiet and emotionally authentic than just about anything we’re liable to see this year.

The tenth Pixar film Up is the second by director Pete Doctor, whose prior effort was the charming buddy comedy Monsters, Inc. Like last year’s Wall-e, which brought us into the lonely world of the last robot on earth, Up brings us into the lonely world of septuagenarian Carl Fredericksen (Edward Asner). In his youth Carl was a balloon salesman and married to his childhood sweetheart, Ellie. The two were attracted together through their love of adventure and living life to the fullest. Their life together is presented in a silent, elegiac montage, set to Michael Giacchino’s beautiful score. In this sequence, Doctor manages to capture both the tragic unpredictable moments of life, and the human comedy of a relationship as portrayed in the couples buoyant perseverance and eternal love for each other. Now that Ellie has died Carl has receded from life into a grumpy old man. Then, to stave off going to the nursing home, and in obligation of an unfulfilled promise he made with Ellie, Carl straps thousands of balloons to his home, which lifts the multicolored house from it’s foundation into the air. The sight of the house soaring through the air, once again accompanied by Giacchino’s fine score is a fresh, breathtaking image. The flying house is headed toward Paradise Falls in South America, where Carl and Ellie’s childhood hero, adventurer Charles Muntz (Christopher Plummer), used to travel to in his zeppelin, in search of exotic creatures. Accidental stowaway and young wilderness explorer Russell accompanies Carl to South America. The relationship between the two is the centerpiece of the film. Russell (Jordan Nagai) at first seems annoying. He’s an average kid who whines when he’s tired and has no reservations of saying what’s on his mind. Russell unintentionally forces Carl to come to terms with his own fears and helps him to rediscover the meaning in his life after Ellie.

While being deeply emotional and visually beautiful, Up is extremely funny. The age gap of the main characters fulfills its expected potential for comedy. Meanwhile there is absurdist humor with a giant colorful bird, whose neck movements alone provide a wonderful array of endless sight gags, along with dozens of anthropomorphic dogs, which somehow feels naturally integrated into this fantastical story. And while I praise the film for it’s moments of quiet, there is plenty of action. However the action is filmed fluently, without a lot of fast cuts or quick movements. Doctor has respect for the aerial action, not to mention the human eye. The only aspect of Up that doesn’t quite hit the mark is when Russell goes into exposition explaining his unfortunate family situation. These conversations are not only abrupt and manipulative, but also unnecessary. This is Carl’s story, and it’s a good one.

-Jason Bardin