Movie Review

(In theaters, January 2008) The best horror films are often those that don’t reach for your throat with cheap shocks, loud stingers and oceans of blood. The Orphanage will feel immediately familiar to fans of The Sixth Sense, The Others and Pan’s Labyrinth: For a long time, there’s little to suggest that this is a horror film, and the hints only accumulate gradually. Cranked like a purring machine, The Orphanage is light on shocks and deep in atmosphere. Belén Rueda’s performance carries nearly the entire film as her character falls apart over the course of the events. There’s much to applaud in the script, from the double-trigger twist to an emotionally satisfying climax that works by not wimping out. There are a few rough spots for dramatic purposes, but the rest of the film holds together and is easily better than the vast majority of American horror films. Remember the pedigree I mentioned? This is the horror film that every connoisseur will have to see this year, if only to nag those who haven’t.

(On DVD, January 2008) This brainy documentary takes on a tough subject (the way the aftermath of the invasion of Iraq was mishandled) without much in terms of eye-candy: It’s mostly Baghdad footage and talking heads for the entire duration. But don’t let that stop you from watching this intelligent explanation of how and why the United States has really dropped the ball and exacerbated existing problems after its invasion. A lot of this material will be familiar to observers of the situation over the past few years, but No End In Sight does a fine job at piecing it together in a coherent picture that goes beyond the easy headlines. It’s a matter of policy decisions and adapting to the fact on the ground –and in there like in the rest of its administration, the Bush II regime is completely incompetent. The film shows over and over how capable people are ignored, sidelined or fired and replaced with ideologically malleable people who don’t have a clue. It adds up to a profoundly depressing portrait, a methodical argument without much in terms of overt partisan polemic. (Though Rumsfeld act as the film’s own bitter comic relief.) It’s not documentary-as-entertainment like we’ve seen so frequently over the past few years, but it’s a clever, remarkable piece of non-fiction cinema. It certainly deserves its Oscar nomination.

(In theaters, January 2008) If you want to understand Hollywood, why not avoid the best, ignore the worst and take a look at what falls right in-between? Take Mad Money, for instance, a middle-of-the-road criminal comedy that does nothing particularly well but still manages to entertain as long as you don’t ask too many questions. The setup is elegant: Three women in menial jobs at the Federal Reserve unite to smuggle out dollar bills on their way to the shredder. The details are dull and asinine (I can think of five practical objections to the scheme without thinking too hard: serial numbers; job rotation; truly-random searches, money laundering and volume handling), but this is not a detail-oriented movie. It’s really an excuse to see Diane Keaton, Queen Latifah and Katie Holmes play their own demographic stereotypes and spend some time thinking about what we would do in a similar situation. Never mind the weird ethics in which the movie tortures itself, the inner moral contradictions, the cheap ending or the broad physical comedy that never feels even connected to reality. It’s not such a bad time at the movies: in fact, given the dearth of female-driven movie out there, it’s almost a welcome change of pace. Mad Money‘s script is clumsy, from a flashback-driven structure to a disappointing number of modest laughs here and there. But its main problem is the film’s lack of overall ambition, mordant wit, ethical concern or sustained tension: it doesn’t do much with what it has in stock. Oh, fans of the three lead actresses will be happy, but no one will be overly impressed. And that can very well stand for most of Hollywood’s mid-list offerings.

(On DVD, January 2008) there’s something hilarious about the film’s self-important message about the dangers of letting your daughter go to the big city. Hard drugs, abusive boyfriends and Internet pornography are inevitable consequences of parental indulgence! The upper-middle-class paranoia of the script plays doubly false given the film’s own titillation factor and goody-goody characters. The murder mystery ends up being a false front for a hypocritical feature-length reactionary tract that resolves itself in a bitterly unsatisfying twist. While the pacing is generally satisfying and the production value hold up well, the film itself is a hollow shell. Too bad; the actors do generally well with what they’re given, and it’s always a pleasure to see Michel Côté get in a fist-fight.

(In theaters, January 2008) There are a number of really nice things about this film, and it’s a shame that some of them work at cross-purposes. Juno may begin as a tart-tongued indie comedy with a lot of cynicism, but it gradually transforms itself into a relatively better-mannered romantic drama with a lot more heart than you’d expect from Rainn Wilson’s initial rapid-fire smart-alec riffs. It works, in part because it mirrors the transitions of the characters themselves: Coolness is a variable quality in Juno, and the better people can often be the ones you don’t expect. It earns its heartfelt ending. On the other hand, the crunchy dialog gets more and more ordinary as the film advances, and it’s easy to pine for the earlier flurry of quotable material. But a better case of instincts running aground can be seen in the typical “indie” feel: the minimalist soundtrack, the endearing goofiness of the characters, the jerky pacing, the basement-cheap cinematography and the deliberately off-the-wall opening credits. It works more or less well: Juno wouldn’t be the film it is had it been adulterated by a slick marketing department, but the rough edges of the film still feel off-putting. But I’m really being far more critical than I should: Out of a lengthy list of indie comedies that have caught on mainstream audiences lately, Juno stands far above Napoleon Dynamite and is generally more consistent than Little Miss Sunshine. Ellen Page shines in the title role, and the script is pure savvy writing. Characters act in refreshing fashions (no cheap histrionics here) and stick in mind long after other films have faded in memory. Oh, just see it, all right?

(In theaters, January 2008) It’s too early in the year to start thinking about best-of-year lists, but I’ve got a feeling that I’ll have to keep a spot for Cloverfield. Sure, it can be instantly dismissed as “Blair Witch Gojira”, or a “Monster movie for the YouTube Generation”. The story is short and simple, the characters are sketches and the shakycam cinematography isn’t as clear as it should be. But that’s missing the point. Cloverfield is a modest triumph of concept, taking a popcorn monster movie and bringing the audience so deep into it that it becomes a full-blown horror film. There are clear visual references to 9/11 early in the film, and it’s hard to avoid thinking that this is the first good pop-culture film to completely internalize the chaos, the confusion and the terror of that day, transposed into something (monsters!) that had become innocuous through endless B-movies. As a movie geek, I was impressed at how well the filmmakers integrated the camera as a character in the film, how the continuous filming felt natural in the context of the piece and yet how they ended up capturing exactly the images they wanted. (Although I think the tower sequence is ill-served by the lack of visual detail.) The suspense works; the subway sequence is terrifying, but the death that it sets up is brutal in its execution. Oh, I can quibble with the best of them about the plot’s logistical problems (walking long distances in minutes, getting off a snapping bridge far too easily, running without shoes and a gaping wound), but I can’t deny that when this film works, it really works. One thing is for sure: It’s so much better than the American remake of Godzilla that it’s like talking about different art forms.

(In theaters, January 2008) The once-sparse subcategory of geopolitical sarcastic comedy is certainly picking up steam: After Lord Of War and The Hunting Party, here’s Charlie Wilson’s War, a “comedy” with more political savvy than most so-called “political thrillers” (not to mention documentaries) out there. Little surprise, since Aaron Sorkin is writing it: his mastery of Soviet weaponry and the Washington political process shows through. Better yet is the acting talent, with Tom Hanks having fun as a philandering Texas congressman and Julia Roberts hamming it up as a larger-than-life Houston socialite. And yet it’s Philip Seymour Hoffman who walks away with the best lines as a riot-nrrrd CIA operative who finally gets a chance to do something. The script deftly takes us around the world, making a comedy out of a foreign policy move that blows back hard. And that, ultimately ends up being the uncomfortable elephant in the room: How can you make a snarky comedy about arming people who would later come back and become one of the USA’s many number-one enemies? Well, you don’t, and you tag the conclusion in an epilogue. Which may be the truest, unkindest joke of all.

(In theaters, January 2008) How fitting that a film about life-long guilt should seem to last forever. If you thought The English Patient wasn’t long enough, then Atonement is the movie for you: stiff-lipped English romantic drama against a WW2 backdrop, with self-important cinematography and lengthy meaningful pauses. It certainly aims for a particularly forgiving segment of the public, and it’s no accident if I was the youngest member of the audience at the screening I attended. The opening manages to be both enigmatic and dull, with enough time-shifting to make anyone wonder if the reels have been wrongly put together. Then it’s off to war, and the single best reason to see the film: a lengthy shot flying around three characters as they make their way on and off a beach where English troops are waiting to be evacuated. It’s a show-off piece –just like most of what’s distinctive about the film, up to and including the ending which slaps the viewer on the face and tells them they shouldn’t have bothered. This is pure Oscar-bait, and it exemplifies the type of excruciating cinema that audiences have to inflict upon themselves if they want to stay current during the Awards season.

(In theaters, January 2008) Sixth (or eighth?) in a series of instructions on how to stomp two franchises deeper into the ground. By now, aliens and predators are so familiar that they could be making plushies of them for all the non-terror they inspire. This film doesn’t add much to the mythos (barely a look at the Predator planet and a late Yutani cameo) and doesn’t do much with the now-generic monsters. The human characters aren’t particularly interesting either, and their gory deaths are far more ordinary than you’d expect. (Only a scene in a maternity ward actually stretches the boundaries of good taste and earns some begrudging kudos.) There are some okay special effects, but the men-in-suits shtick is all too obvious here. There’s really not much to say about this film: it’ll fade in memory even faster than the first Alien vs Predator, and that’s a telling fact in itself.

(In theaters, December 2007) Bio-pictures like Walk The Line and Ray certainly deserve to be parodied, but half-hearted efforts like Walk Hard will either work or not depending on the mood you’re in. On the surface, everything is there: The scene parodies, the musical content, the rehab episodes, the celebrity encounters, the ridiculousness, the cheap deep-seated childhood traumas… and yet the film elicits more grins than laughs. The only undeniable success of the film is John C. Reilly, who finally gets a good top billing after years of quieter efforts. Part of the problem is the film’s tightrope act between surface credibility (as a parody of merely two films) and unabashed silliness as a broader comedy. The rare laughs are usually in recognition of a specific music joke or allusion. It doesn’t help that the ending sorts of peters out without much of a climax. A recommendation: The film may work better in the middle of award season, as an antidote to all of those self-obsessed Oscar contenders. And don’t even rent the film if you haven’t suffered through both Ray and Hold The Line.

(In theaters, December 2007) Count on Tim Burton to deliver an odd mixture of musical comedy and gory horror. This story of a serial murdering barber and meatpie-making accomplice is pure goth opera, with spraying arterial blood and ghoulish nutriment. Johnny Depp and Helena Bonham Carter don’t have particularly impressive voices, but it’s the visuals, the atmosphere and the deep unease of the film that make it such a memorable experience. As with many musicals, the plot is predictable and the songs can stop the action dead in its tracks; unlike many musicals, most viewers will remembers the visuals long after they can recall the songs. It’s certainly a unique experience at a time where Hollywood is often accused of timid audience-pleasing, Sweeney Todd takes odd chances and if the result isn’t something to be watched over and over again, it’s a definite curiosity… for strong stomachs.

(On DVD, December 2007) Romantic comedies from a male point of view are unusual by definition, but this one has a little more than curiosity going for it: As a thirtysomething ghostwriter undergoes a life crisis in pursuing an old flame at the expense of an existing relationship, the film’s first act is hilariously funny, with numerous crash-cuts, fantasy sequences, flashbacks, bons mots and cutting dialogue. (But then again, I’m always partial to writer protagonists.) For a while, it feels like a film that can do no wrong. Alas, that feeling disappears with a car crash of monumental coincidence, and a descent from comedy to melodrama. There are still a few really good sequences here and there (including a fantastic montage of a writer at work), but the romantic resolution feels cheap and easy, and it comes along with a wildly implausible climax to anyone who knows anything about publishing. (A novel written and published in less than a year? No way!) Still, Edouard Baer is appealing as the protagonist, and the rest of the cast (some of whom will be familiar even to French-Canadian viewers) does good work. Not bad, though probably not a hidden gem begging for translation.