Justin's (new) Review Thread

The Cabin in the Woods (Drew Goddard,2012)



Slasher films, almost inevitably these days, run off the same tired formula. It’s to the point of being their very nature. But occasionally, we’ll run into something smart and well-made, but it’s become so sporadic and inconsistent that I’m surprised that the horror fanbase hasn’t rebelled or caused mass anarchy--justifiably so, mind you. Joss Whedon and Drew Goddard take their mayhem to the screen and make The Cabin in the Woods crazy, entertaining and smart. It feels a lot like the complaints and gripes of every fan of the genre (and cinema, in general) is being funneled through their pens and onto paper. Instead of being a tirade, however, it’s an extremely clever and thoughtful deconstruction of the entire genre--which isn’t just limited to slasher flicks, mind you. They’ve also somehow included Cthulhu mythos and an aspect of science-fiction. Nevertheless, Whedon and Goddard not only bring us a refreshing take on the horror genre, but raise interesting questions as to whether or not a character in a horror film can maintain a sense of individualism and be capable of making their own choices and still be a part of the genre. Not only is this a meta-film, but a funny one, at that, making it that much more endearing. It’s a must-see for horror fans.

In The Cabin in the Woods, Whedon and Goddard are working within a framework. It’s clear from the start. With that said, it’s a genuine opportunity for breaking from the stereotypes and cliches while still making fun of them. We have the mandatory five friends (who all possess the stereotypes: the jock, the pothead, the ‘slut’, the heartbroken virgin, and the nice guy intellectual) who decide to take a trip out to a cabin and spend a weekend there. We’ve seen it all before. Where the film shines the most are the moments where we’re slightly unsure of what’s going on, or where this film is going--yet, we sort of have an idea. It may seem contradictory, and it is, but the uncertainty and certainty are both there. Like I mentioned before, this is a meta-film--our characters are burdened with choice with no knowledge of their future or even that they’re being handed an opportunity to change their destiny. Without sounding like a philosophical essay, it’s an engaging, yet unusual scenario.

It may seem near impossible to keep a film like this engaging and moving quickly, but Whedon and Goddard do so wonderfully. Goddard has done a surprising job of bringing the comically best out of their characters: Kristen Connolly plays the naive virgin; Chris Hemsworth the belligerent jock; Anna Hutchison the ‘slut’; Fran Kranz the pothead. They all manage to make their stereotypes hilarious. Fran Kranz (who worked with Whedon on Dollhouse), in particular, does a good job of overacting when necessary and even bringing out a sense of humanity towards the third act of the film. The script is, as always, taut and well-thought through. Whedon has always been a master of creating your three act structure scripts but somehow keeps a sense of surprise to his work. Strangely enough, he includes an element of science-fiction that harkens back to old horror. It’s a bizarre concept, but one that works exceedingly well. Drew Goddard, of course, can not be understated--his directorial hand is precise and thorough.

We as the audience demand certain traits of our horror, yet we still see the same slasher films over and over, despite our endless complaints. It’s a weird scenario, yet an accurate one that The Cabin in the Woods comments on. The Ancient Ones, in the film, could quite possibly represent our desire to see the virgin sacrifice, to see the jock get his comeuppance, or to see the necessary amount of blood and gore. Perhaps the film represents even more than a commentary on the stereotypes and cliches of the horror genre, but the human desire of seeing what we think those we disapprove of deserve. It’s an endless cycle of ‘what if’s’, though that’s precisely what gives it life. Who is watching who and so on and so forth, ad infinitum. Those looking for a few scares will likely get them, as well as a few viciously violent scenes that seem far worse than what we’re used to--they seem more real, more disturbing. It’s a weird movie, suffice it to say, that feels more complicated in retrospect. Everyone here has done some great work and it pays off very, very well. The Cabin in the Woods, I’ll reiterate, should be seen and hopefully, you’ll find as much there as I did.

Great movie review of a great movie.

The Raid: Redemption (2012,Gareth Evans)



The Raid: Redemption is something of a breakthrough for the martial arts genre. That is to say, it kicks all kinds of ass. Director Gareth Evans displays his love for the genre and the style of martial art called Pencak Silat. Between a high octane sense of urgency on behalf of the actors and a kinetic, Danny Boyle-esque styled camerawork. It’s truly a thrill to watch, and martial arts enthusiasts will surely be clamoring in to watch this what will surely be a cult classic on DVD/BR. Keeping with the MA genre, the plot itself is rather simple and straightforward. Evans has acknowledged his love for movies like The Assault on Precinct 13 and the influence is felt strongly here. But don’t let the simplicity fool you: it isn’t about the story, but about a display of unbelievably physical ability and a perfect chemistry between the cinematography and fight sequences. Suffice it to say, you won’t regret seeing it in the theater.

In The Raid, the scenario is quite simple: a SWAT team are sent into a seemingly abandoned building to extract a drug lord who has been renting out rooms to drug addicts and murderers in exchange for their services to him. We hardly take any time introducing our protagonist, Rama (played by Iko Uwais), who is moralistic and determined to accomplish an ulterior motive in this mission, which we know very little about. First off, quiet, soft-spoken Iko Uwais is spectacular at what he does. His athletic ability is unparalleled, something I haven’t seen since Ong Bak’s Tony Jaa. In The Raid, his acting chops aren’t quite as important as his ability to use everything at his disposal to escape an ugly scenario. Make no mistake, this is a throw-everything-you-can-at-your protagonist piece of cinema, and it shines all the more for it.

Of course, the plot isn’t without its twists and turns. Even in the beginning, Evans openly stated that this film was meant to be a show and display for the Pencak Silat style. And it is exactly just that. He also brings out the best in what little the actors have to work with; that is to say that they all competently bring their characters to life. It contains all of the ingredients that comprise a great action movie. Despite some criticisms over the violence and gore, Evans does manage to show us bursts of ugly violence that is portrayed in that way. They aren’t sugarcoated for us, even if the film is loaded with it.

The battle scenes are set up with a stationary camera that allows us to watch in full detail the Pencak Silat style (granted, I don’t know much about it, so I can’t be the judge of how well its shown). This makes for an exhilarating experience—truly a high octane piece of entertainment. This will likely be taken for granted, seeing as a majority of action sequences filmed today are done with a realistic, handheld aesthetic that numerous viewers have complained about (whether it made them nauseous, or just found it annoying). The Raid stays clear from that from the most part, though Evans does use it in several scenes, but luckily, never in the fighting sequences.

The Raid: Redemption is a tremendous amount of fun. It’s sort of an indie film for action/ MA lovers, that will undoubtedly please them. The genre itself has not seen much for many years now, but Raid may just be the shot in the arm it needs to finally put some energy back into a stale genre that was once thriving. It harkens back to a primal sense of action and thrill-seeking. It will likely quench the thirst many of us have for an all-out action film that doesn’t cut corners. It may seem simple, but that is exactly why The Raid pays off so well.

^ I've heard great things about Raid. Gonna get my hands on it as soon as it gets out on DVD

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Do it. You won't be disappointed.

Snow White and The Huntsman (2012,Rupert Sanders)




Instead of beating around the bush, I’ll go ahead and throw this out there, since we’ve all known it from the very beginning: Kristin Stewart is an awful actress. It might as well be mentioned, since it’s also a good springboard into the justified criticism that her performance has received. From the Twilight movies up until now, she’s somehow managed to capture the hearts and minds of tweens all across the world. Perhaps its her wooden, unresponsive glazed-over look of someone who either doesn’t care, or has no clue as to what’s going on; or more likely than not it’s that she’s just in the right series. I gave her more than adequate praise for her work in Adventureland and surprisingly enough, she did more than just stand there and nod. But Snow White and the Huntsman is a return to form for her. In the worst way possible.

Set in the fairytale world of Snow White, director Rupert Sanders has taken a different approach to the frequently told and retold story. This has a much darker sensibility than what we’v seen before, yet it carries a sense of familiarity. I’m speaking of the amount of “dark” fairytales that have been in production, on TV and in the theaters over the course of this year. We’ve seen it before, it’s nothing new. But in Snow White, Sanders has his hands full trying to surpass the other recreations—and unfortunately, he does not succeed. In casting Stewart as Snow White and Theron as Ravenna, he was taking a big risk in Theron completely overshadowing Stewart. This, however, doesn’t happen. Neither actress does much—one overacts (Theron), while the other is wooden. In spite of Stewart and Theron’s performances, the film faults on a basic storytelling level more than anything, though they can hardly be ignored. They are the central pieces, after all. Sanders has added in some new material to the story, but nothing that really makes it stand out.

One of the biggest surprises is how Theron’s performance is so over-the-top. She’s never been one to overact in the past, but for some strange reason—possibly Sanders’ direction?—she does a great deal of it here. To his credit, she is given more backstory than Stewart is, surprisingly enough. In a weird way, it is actually more of Ravenna’s story than it is Snow White’s. In the end, I felt more empathy towards the cruel Ravenna than I did towards the lily-white image of Snow White, whose personality seems utterly flat in comparison to the villain, Ravenna. As I learned more about Ravenna, the more I felt for her plight. Her brother, Finn (Sam Spruell) whose weird haircut can’t be ignored, is downright evil. Spruell, mostly an unknown, plays him to a ‘T’. Chris Hemsworth, the Huntsman, plays his role charmingly, while director Sanders’ visual flair attempts to elevate it from mediocrity.

Snow White and the Huntsman is an altogether unsuccessful film. Despite the strong sense of theme, as well as a striking ending shot, the film flounders around due to a weird sense of pacing and lackluster performances. But while the film doesn’t work, it certainly has its fair share of shining moments—the ending, some of the action sequences were choreographed well and the score, as well as an additional song by the band Florence + The Machine played during the credits. That may seem like very little to see a film for, which is why I’d say it’s a definite must miss. Nevertheless, Rupert Sanders will hopefully bounce back from this with a stronger cast and a tighter script.

Elena (2012,Andrei Zvyagintsev)



Building tension is an art form in itself. Hitchcock knew that, and apparently so does Andrei Zvyagintsev. It is also quite apparent that he is a student of Hitchcock with his newest slow-burner, Elena; which is a follow-up from the The Return, another film with the same moral ambiguity. Elena would be classified as a modern film noir, if we’re looking to categorize cinema. Even the opening shot carries some unnervingly ominous symbolism, with a raven landing on an empty, autumnal tree branch and cawing loudly, making the only noise that can be heard. We gaze through the skeletal branches, through the window, and from there on, it’s all out of focus. This entire shot lasts a good five minutes (or a little under), yet it’s wrought with tension and doom. Somehow Zvyagintsev has us looking into virtually nothing and finding something to make us feel uneasy. This is most of Elena, until a dramatic turn in the story that most of us saw coming, but it feels just as unexpected. Elena is masterful filmmaking of the highest calibre; it epitomizes what a film noir can be.

Elena is a moderately happy housewife who married a wealthy, though cold, businessman. It’s clear she didn’t do this out of monetary gain, since she genuinely loves him. But when confronted with her son’s financial difficulties, whose own son’s future is at stake, she decides to take drastic measures when Vladimir has a heart attack and rejects her request to pay her grandson’s tuition. In Vladimir’s mind, a father must do for his son. There’s nothing wrong with this belief, since it’s not greed that drives it, but a strong sense of morality and ethics of what should constitute a father figure. Her endless love for her family is what drives her. Katya,Vladimir’s daughter, is another major component. There’s a lot more to Katya than what Elena believes. In that respect, it becomes all the more tragic.

The film manages to separate itself from the conventional noir by way of the thin plot. A vast majority of the film noir genre carry a convoluted plot—this is done on purpose, of course—but in the case of Elena, it’s straight forward. And all the better for it. Filled with sparse landscapes, desolate fields with low-income apartment buildings tattooed with graffiti, surrounded by chemical plants sending smoke into the air, all contrasted with the orange glow of a setting sun. There’s an unconventional beauty in the landscaping of the film, where we’re given typically ugly settings made beautiful, just like the dark, shadowed black and white grain of your classic film noir. It all matches up perfectly with the minimalist story. The Hitchcockian orchestral score highlights this contradiction with a soaring, tension-laden soundtrack. Between the soundtrack and the stark landscapes, it all underscores the inner conflict faced by our protagonist.

Elena is played by Nadezhda Markina to terrific, understated perfection. She hits all of the right notes. While there is very little going on on the surface, there is an electric undercurrent of feeling surging through her. Faced with decisions many would deem impossible and cruel, her reactions seem wholly human. In one scene that stood out in particular, Elena meets up with Katya, who is seemingly distant from her father. Katya is played by Elena Lyadova to bitter satisfaction, with an air of resentment towards Elena that is unparalleled and slightly inexplicable. She has life all figured out, or in her own way, as she believes adamantly that children are a waste of time, and that her father is a greedy womanizer. In this scene Elena is faced with the nigh impossible task of persuading Katya to visit her father in the hospital. Her rejection to Elena’s innocent request is shocking, but when Katya does agree to it in the end, her interaction with Vladimir is strangely touching. Zvyagintsev not only proves his skill with tone, but his prowess with guiding conversations effortlessly to unsettling places. His actors speak, but their true personalities are shown and often betray their words.

The consequences of a character’s actions, to Zvyagintsev, are not always shown. In fact, he seems particularly bent on showing a lack of consequence. We are left with an uncomfortable feeling with no knowledge of where our protagonist and the others will be going. This same uncomfortable feeling is accompanied by the sense of disillusionment with our characters who we thought we knew, only to reveal themselves as something deeper, more complex and independent. Elena, whose morality is shown to be the most ambiguous, is questionable—but her motivation for doing what she did is clear, yet it seems all the more unsettling for it. Like Vladimir, this is a cold world that Zvyagintsev has constructed; where the cool, beautiful autumnal landscape is differentiated by the rugged, urban power plants. It all seems perfectly contradictory.

Chicken with Plums (2012,Vincent Paronnaud)



Based on the graphic novel of the same name—written and illustrated by Marjane Satrapi—Chicken with Plums tells a simple story, but one packed with her trademark humor, seriousness and surrealism. Perhaps even more so than Persepolis, Chicken with Plums is a film that meanders quite a bit, but it’s emotional power can’t be understated; it thoroughly details a musician’s history, future and present with great ease. Stylistically it’s very interesting and resembles some other films with zany visuals, yet it brings its own sense of uniqueness into the mix, making it an enthralling experience filled with Satrapi’s wondrous imagination. If you’re looking for a straight forward piece of storytelling, this might not be the best place to look. However, if you’re looking to merely engage with characters, learn a little about yourself in the process and find amusement and humor in the quirky surrealism, this will undoubtedly be a joy to watch.

Starring in Chicken with Plums is the popular French actor Mathieu Almaric. He plays the young violinist, Nasser Ali Khan, who has fallen in love with Irane, a woman seemingly out of his reach. It’s difficult to summarize, as the film sort of weaves in and out of present day, mixing up the chronology. But what it lacks in plot (I say that like it’s a bad thing, and it’s not), it makes up in the way it brings out the inner life of our protagonist, Nasser. There’s a lot going on inside of his head, much of his time being preoccupied with finding a replacement for his broken violin, which has driven him to his bed, awaiting his death. He’s an unusual musician, whose love for his shattered violin is only outmatched by his love for Irane, a former lover. His longtime wife, Faranguiss, is loving and devoted to Nasser—though she misunderstands him to some degree, through no fault of her own.

Like Satrapi’s Persepolis, the protagonists always revel in simple pleasures: the children in Chicken with Plums opening their mouths for snowflakes, the sound of a violin at night and Marjane’s love for rock music (the outside culture). She takes it one step further in Plums, where Nasser remembers his love for large breasts, which is brought to life by disembodied, hilariously large breasts floating in midair. Director Paronnaud did some great work with the meandering hallucinations. In one particularly great scene, Azrael has come to visit Nasser, who still lays on his death bed. Azrael is a horned shadowy figure with a biting sense of humor and wit.

Altogether Chicken with Plums is without a doubt a success. Whether it be the style, the humor, the surrealism or the heartfelt nature of the work, it’ll manage to please all audiences. Satrapi has a way with her characters. Her writing brings out the best and worse of everyone; where we’re able to see every flaw and every positive trait of our protagonists. It may seem common, but I assure you, it’s not. Every so often we have someone who can truly give their characters a sense of humanity. I realize I’ve not said enough about Paronnaud, and like in Persepolis, he has somehow brought her works to the screen—it isn’t easy; something so surreal and unique, and meandering. It seems Satrapi and Paronnaud understand each other quite well.

Declaration of War (2012,Valerie Donzelli)



Declaration of War is based on reality, and it couldn’t really be any grimmer—in fact, it could have easily of played out as a simple, emotional drama, something more like Babel. What makes this even more difficult is that the director, Valerie Donzelli, was directly involved with the events that took place—it was her son, along with her husband, Jeremie Elkaim, that endured these traumatic, life altering events. Her newborn son, Adam, is vomiting violently, having difficulty walking and his face has taken on an abnormal shape. They learn that Adam has a brain tumor, and his life is at stake. Yet in spite of all of this, Donzelli finds time to show us that her relationship with her husband and son never changes; it only grows stronger, and their times together sometimes produce humor and sadness in the same breath It’s nevertheless a tough subject, but one done with such compassion and understanding, it ironically makes it all the more difficult to endure.

Even in the opening minutes, we are reminded of the importance of humor and silliness in life. Elkaim, who plays Romeo, spots Juliette (Donzelli) from across a party where everyone is dancing frenetically on the floor. Yes, they are Romeo and Juliette, and they acknowledge this striking coincidence. Romeo flicks a peanut over to Juliette, who allows it to land in her mouth. For some reason, this became a very memorable scene in the film. Perhaps one that helps show their relationship at its best. All the way through, it reminded me distinctly of classic French New Wavers, such as Godard and Truffaut, whose early playfulness pervaded their work and made it all the more endearing. Montage played an integral role in the early French New Wave, and it does here, as well. It makes Declaration of War all the more effective.

But Donzelli will always be on point to remind us that it’s not all a joke. In fact, it’s deadly serious. In one memorable montage, the entire family is notified of Adam’s tumor and the results are heartbreaking. The togetherness of this family is shown with such ease, with dramatic and unrelenting consequences. It not only affects the parents, but the entire family. The actors all show it, too; they are all very strong in their roles, even several of the minor characters are natural and un-theatrical. Our leads, Elkaim and Donzelli, are an absolute thrill to watch as they live out their own history on screen. Even more admirable, is their ability to confront such a tough subject twice in their life— once in privacy with their family and friends, while the second time being in front of an audience. It’s the act of opening old wounds, thus pushing the healing process forwards. They remove their masks and show the most intimate, troubling time in their lives for an audience.

Shot with a loving, intimate handheld style, the film jumps from each event to each event with an urgency. But Donzelli never forgets to include simple moments, as well— which are usually some of the most important. She’s also included a voice over, also like early Godard and Truffaut, that doesn’t necessarily help progress the film along, but it actually helps us reflect on the events as they unfold. Discussions with family members are had, fights are had—sometimes all in montage—and it all is held together by a tight voice over that also adds a bit of comedy into the mix. It certainly isn’t superfluous. What also makes this film special is the ability to not only show how it unfolds in their lives, but also the consequences of each event. New routines are built that revolve around Adam, something un-saccharine in its execution. The theme of togetherness and his importance to their lives never once leaves the frame.

Perhaps the most emblematic moment of the entire film comes in the end. A film, typically, should be able to be summed up with one image. A family that has literally given everything for their child, so he may grow up happy and healthy. This is done with such unsentimental, yet compassionate storytelling that it brought tears to my eyes. I am not one to usually grow such attachment to each character, but here, I wouldn’t have minded watching another full hour of their life. But it’s not necessary. Donzelli and Elkaim have brought us something special, something personal in their lives. They’ve not only opened up a chapter in their lives that will undoubtedly have a lasting effect on the rest of their lives, but they have reminded us of the life-altering nature of cancer— and more specifically, childhood cancer. Indeed, it’s a tough subject. One that isn’t usually approached in film due to its delicate nature. We can thank them here for their daringness to do that.

The Dark Knight Rises (2012,Christopher Nolan)



The Dark Knight Rises really couldn’t have been any bigger. Not just the crowds, but in the scope of the work, where Nolan involves global, topical subjects ranging from renewable energy to politics. But the big issue is not the topics themselves, but the way they’re spread so thin. Rises is an epic affair that leaves you little time to stop and think, it ultimately feels like you’ve barely had time to breathe. I acknowledge that most of my frustration stems from my dissatisfaction with the ending, but Rises somehow manages to encompass all of our modern day fears within its extensive running time (which just might have been too short). The Dark Knight Rises is many things: chaotic, messy, apocalyptic, choppy and colossal. Despite all of the problems, it remains entertaining and I think even those sorely disappointed—like myself—will find themselves re-watching it just for the sheer thrill of the ending of a landmark trilogy in the comic book world. It’s as flawed as it is daring.

It’s been 8 years since Batman last showed his face. During that time, Bruce Wayne has become a recluse. Now he lives in utter solitude, growing a beard and spending his time doing….well, who knows what. Wayne has retreated into a dark place, and has withdrawn from his life as Batman and is now Bruce Wayne full-time. Naturally, trouble is brewing in the sewers of Gotham. A man named Bane (Tom Hardy) is building an army. Bane is an illusive, masked character with a booming, strong English accent. He’s built like a tank, skilled in martial arts and very intelligent. He wants to create a new Gotham; one without the rich and corrupt and where the people run it. Catwoman makes her debut in the final act of the trilogy. Played surprisingly well by Anne Hathaway, it’s difficult to put a tap on her personality. She seems to play both sides of the field, sometimes selfishly. Joseph Gordon-Levitt makes his second appearance in a Nolan film—the first being Inception—and here he makes little impact, through no fault of his own.

One of the biggest issues with Rises is the pacing and chaotic first act. In a film that feels urgent and apocalyptic, it’s normal that it should feel this way, but to an extent. Nolan seems to have forgotten to help us along a little, so we’re not left in the dust wondering what’s going on. Characters are racing around, Bruce is moping about and five other events are occurring simultaneously. It’s incredibly difficult to get your bearings. Even if just 30 minutes were added on, it could’ve helped us to settle in a bit more. Sometimes you just want a break. Luckily, we are eventually given some form of reprieve but it comes rather late in the game. Nolan has created a problematic scenario where he wants to give ample screen time to everyone, making this somewhat of an ensemble piece like The Dark Knight, he often forgets his protagonist: Batman.

It was always going to be difficult to top the greatness and near-perfection of The Dark Knight. This was going to be a huge challenge for Nolan, some might say insurmountable. But with Rises, his ambitions are epic in scope and almost too large. With that said, much of the action scenes are spectacular to behold. Like in Inception, Nolan has a knack for creating some amazing sequences. Much of them are actually the fights between Bane and Batman. Nolan is also known for chaotic action set pieces where it’s hard to tell what’s going on—this isn’t the case here. Along with that, there’s also a terrific scene in which a football game is disrupted and the stadium is ultimately destroyed by Bane. This scene in particular stuck with me for many reasons. Bane is looking to implement a new social order, and sports are often considered a luxury—a decadence—so this would naturally be one of his first targets. In the previous films, Batman usually receives some kind of new gadget from Lucius Fox. He does not disappoint here, either, when The Bat is unveiled. Some of the scenes of the craft gliding around Gotham are astonishing, especially in IMAX.

What would it have looked like if The Dark Knight Rises had been less ambitious? It certainly wouldn’t have had the impact it did on the audience, who either left disappointed or in a state of awe at the grandiosity of the work. After the sudden, devastating loss of Heath Ledger, it seemed near impossible to really bring a villain that could match his performance. Tom Hardy doesn’t have the charisma or the quotable lines, but it shouldn’t be gauged by how well it measures up to the Joker. Judging the film on its own terms makes this a substantially better film. I’d go as far as to say it’s better than Batman Begins. All of the cast do their best with what they have, especially Bale, whose performance in several scenes is as strong as any in the series. I can’t help but feel, however, that their performances are lost in the scale of the work. Nevertheless, this trilogy brought a seriousness to comic book films that were once scoffed at for their ridiculousness. While The Dark Knight Rises is marred by a cornball ending, it is without a doubt an endlessly enjoyable piece of entertainment.

I see no problem with this. 'Evil' teenagers? People can be evil, even teens. And there's probably teens among this group who enjoy the sport they're playing for some reason, just like people enjoy football and get really rowdy and deep into it. People might have trained these teens earlier in life in preparation for The Hunger Games and they may have had a thirst to be in it. It was probably exciting to them.

I liked the vile display of aggression that The Hunger Games features.

This didn't feel like teeny-bopper stuff at all. They have every reason to be attracted to each other and to fall in love.

Perhaps it is a bit forced that the other contestants didn't really develop emotional bonds like these two. The most forced aspect of the film is that



But, I think most can be excused for the sake of being a movie and trying to tell a story.

It could have been a lot more darker. It does focus a lot on syrupy moments like when a certain character gets killed and Katniss tends to him/her, but, I think it was alright.

Yes. She barely does anything to survive. That's right - I remember that now. She is always getting saved, usually by someone else. That did irritate me.

I was excited. It's thrilling.

I think The Hunger Games is a product of all of the reality TV, Survivor type programming we've seen in the past 10+ years. That's where the idea came from, I'm sure. I enjoyed it.

I'm glad you liked it. And thank you for taking the time to read my review.

Hara-Kiri: Death of a Samurai (2012,Takashi Miike)



Hara-Kiri: Death of a Samurai is a remake by Takashi Miike of the classic film of the same name. Miike is indeed a prolific filmmaker, who has worked within a dozen different genres, so it should come as no surprise that he has changed his direction to samurai fiction. Most notably, he has built up a reputation for his work within ultra-violent filmmaking with a philosophical edge. Recently, his film 13 Assassins garnered a lot of well deserved praise for his stellar action sequences. Hara-Kiri is a different animal, but works much the same way. Miike takes his time working towards the finale, while telling a story about love, honor and betrayal. This one is something different from his other films, where unusual, atypical storytelling insists upon itself, along with characters who do not fit into any archetype take priority. Death of a Samurai is weighed down by its melodrama and saccharine staging, something the original steered clear from. Less time is spent pondering and more time is spent making each scene feel simplistic. Realistically, there was little to improve on from the original, so its no surprise that is falls way short of reaching those great heights.

In Feudal Japan, hara-kiri was a common practice by many shamed samurai. It was considered a noble act, that accompanied great pride and bravery. Quite simply put, it’s the act of disemboweling yourself. We are introduced to a samurai who shows up on the doorsteps of a renowned clan asking to be allowed to commit the act (also called seppuku). Kageyu Saito (Koji Yakusho) is this samurai. On this day, however, the leader of the clan begins to tell a story of another who requested the same right. It is granted, but when the time has come for him to do it, he attempts to bide his own time and then decides to abandon it altogether. With honor and pride being as important as they are in this time period, you can imagine the outrage of the onlookers and their leader. This impoverished samurai, named Hanshiro Tsugumo (Ichikawa Ebizo XI) is forced to do it with his sword, which is revealed to actually be made of wood. It’s a bloody, grisly death that’s difficult to watch. Miike doesn’t go as far as he does in his earlier works—thank goodness—but it’s no less disturbing. He doesn’t pull the camera away until he collapses to the ground.

If you’ve seen the original, there is no reason that you should see the remake. Miike hasn’t done much to really establish the necessity of his decision to recreate an already perfect film. It feels a lot like Gus Van Sant’s remake of Psycho, which was pointless and a waste of time. Neither film really does anything of their own, except change the actors and make the story a lot less engaging. It is worth noting that a lot of the themes still resonate strongly and they aren’t toned down for contemporary audiences. But it doesn’t save the film from being dull. For whatever reason, Miike added 3-D to his project which does nothing for the atmosphere. Every film Miike has directed he has always had his personality that reminds us that it’s him directing rather than a machine. That is unfortunately absent from this film. While 13 Assassins was a stellar action film, it had his trademark acting, cinematography and over-the-top violence. None of which can be found here. Granted, he hasn’t lost his touch. This is just an unimportant, forgettable film in his extensive catalogue.

Las Acacias (2012,Pablo Giorgelli)



Las Acacias is an intimate portrayal of a man’s evolution; though small and unconcerned about larger issues at hand, it’s very focused on a man’s growth as a human being. Shot almost entirely inside of a lumber-hauling truck, it feels even smaller and uncomfortably claustrophobic. Ruben (German de Silva), a lumberjack and truck driver, is soft-spoken, reserved and he mostly keeps to himself. Strangely, director Pablo Giorgelli averts the archetypes that often plague films of this ilk; where they’re saccharine, over-the-top and usually provide us with an ending that tells us virtually all we will ever need to know about the future of these two people. Giorgelli, instead, chooses a different route. Although this road is less dramatic, it is entirely geared towards a thorough character study. Acacias is leisurely paced, often humorous, and completely and utterly humanistic. It is not without its fair share of problems, but they are difficult to notice when a film is this humane and kind-hearted.

Usually, in films, we are given a series of experiences (mostly profound, always life- altering) that change the landscape of our lives. They almost always change who the characters are on the inside. Las Acacias is no different, except that these experiences are extraordinarily small by comparison. The depth of the change is no different; it’s all working towards the same transformation. In this film, each event is small, almost imperceptible. Each ‘experience’ is more like a look, a gesture or an offering. Everything he does is physical. Ruben is stagnant, stuck in his way of life after many years of driving his truck by himself. When his boss, Fernando, asks him to carry his friend Jacinta from Paraguay to Buenos Aires, it changes almost nothing, until it’s revealed that she is also carrying her five-month-old daughter, Anahi. Clearly uncomfortable, making faux pas after faux pas, he stumbles through this short journey with Jacinta.

I’ll admit, it may seem difficult for this film to sound like it’s more than the sum of its parts. It may seem like nothing happens, but that couldn’t be further from the truth: a lot happens in such a short running time. Ruben goes back and forth with his decision to take her along. Perhaps one of the best moments in the entire film is when Ruben is resting in the backseat of the truck and Jacinta is sitting up front. She has just gotten off the phone with her mother. She’s crying. Ruben keeps his silence and nothing is explained. Giorgelli has deliberately chosen to leave us out of the loop with what has happened with her. Ruben is too shy to ask—or perhaps it just isn’t his place to do so. It is certainly one of the key moments (maybe even one of the most moving scenes) and the greatest indicator of what type of film we are watching. This is a short, sweet study of a man and a woman’s isolation from the world. In the end, Ruben makes one last courageous gesture, where he stumbles along, trying to find just the right set of words.

Nice reviews Justin Thanks

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Health is the greatest gift, contentment the greatest wealth, faithfulness the best relationship.
Buddha

I know it's from quite a while back now but just had to rep you for your review of The Raid. Blind bought and watched it a couple of days ago, fantastic action film. And great review of it.

I really need to try and catch up on your reviews Justin even though I've not seen, or even heard of lots of them!

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The Sweeney (2012, Nick Love)



Cop movies are a dime a dozen these days. It’s become almost more commonplace to see morally corrupt officers of the law acting in their own best interests than seeing them protect the public. Like the current trend in Hollywood, the idea is to keep them in-tuned with reality. They’re stylistically gritty and usually the director attempts to inject the film with some sense of ambiguity so that we can still sympathize with the characters in spite of their flaws. But is it ever that easy? Even some half-baked philosophy about morality and the touchstones of what constitutes a human being could theoretically become routine and a parody in and of itself. The Sweeney is exactly that. Director Nick Love struggles with balancing a gritty cop drama (that might be trying just a little too hard to please fans of the cop drama) and a romance between stars Ray Winstone and Hayley Atwell. Both routes take a toll on one another, causing this UK cop drama to slog and creak to the bloody finale.

Ray Winstone brings his usual tenacity and even a little braggadocio as DI Jack Regan. He’s the head of a division in the police force commonly referred to as “The Sweeney”. Regan could most likely be compared to the likes of Detective Vic Mackey from The Shield, whose violent and unpredictable protagonist stormed the streets of Los Angeles with a fiery, reckless abandon. He is accompanied by Nancy Lewis (Atwell), who is his love interest. Lewis is sadly underdeveloped as a character. She seems to be inserted into the plot for the sake of a romance that’s more melodramatic than authentic (what exactly does she find so attractive about Jack?). Unfortunately, his love interest also happens to be married to DCI Ivan Lewis (Steven Mackintosh). Regan is also a mentor of sorts to George Carter (Ben Drew). Drew carries his own weight with a surprisingly solid performance that doesn’t quite match the ferocity of his counterpart, but nevertheless keeps the audience involved.

One of the biggest issues with The Sweeney is its uncanny resemblance to a CSI episode (only located in England) mashed up with a desire to be Michael Mann. It could be that because it’s based on a TV show from the 70’s, it still wears its roots proudly on its tough-guy, renegade cop suit sleeve, or it could be that director Nick Love approached it from the standpoint of a standard cop-thriller with no higher ambitions. Love mishandles a relationship that doesn’t seem to spark any real life of its own. It feels clumsy and artificial and doesn’t really push the story forward. While their relationship is under heavy strain due to the job at hand, which involves a series of high- profile robberies, the actual drama isn’t thrilling and utterly predictable. Fortunately, there are some really solid action (one very extensive bank shoot-out that might overstay its welcome ever so slightly) set pieces that truly shine in this procedural cop drama.

You might find it odd that I didn’t bother to sum up much of the plot. This is because there isn’t much of one. Much of the drama is within The Sweeney department, where DCI Lewis is doing everything in his power to shut down said division. Lewis finds Regan’s methods crass, brutish and unnecessary despite Jack’s accomplished history with getting results. Of course his wife, Nancy, having an affair with Jack has a lot to do with it as well. Regardless, The Sweeney is stuck in between trying to do two separate things—neither one of them working, either. Whether it be from a plot standpoint or a character one, it can’t focus enough to truly earn the ending that it gets. Director Nick Love is skilled behind the camera, there’s no doubt about that, but his sense of storytelling is lacking. There was enough talent in this film to make it more than watchable, but sadly I caught myself looking at my watch more than once. Truly a missed opportunity.

Stoker (2013, Chan-wook Park)



Oldboy has long been a favorite of mine. Chan-wook Park’s direction is risky and transgressive, and invokes a newfound awareness of social and moral grey areas that have not been treaded on in such a dangerous fashion in many years (though Gaspar Noe’s nihilistic Irreversible comes to mind). But since then, Park has created a career out of sidestepping stereotypes and societal norms. With his newest film, Stoker, he is constructing a different sort of film. Though far more classical in its execution, Stoker is a gothic piece of storytelling in the most traditional sense. Aesthetically and technically, this might be his most sensual and visceral film. While Oldboy induces a sense of disillusionment and confusion, Stoker is pure dread. and suspense. There are a number of directorial and literary references sprinkled throughout the film. Hitchcock is easily the most prominent figurehead that will undoubtedly be named in many reviews and criticisms. Even though Park’s direction and technical work are phenomenal, his material has let him down. Penned by first time writer Wentworth Miller (who starred in the T.V. show Prison Break), the script doesn’t quite hit the same high marks set by the direction. It’s merely serviceable, and that’s the problem.

Miller’s script is even reminiscent of earlier films, where a mysterious figure suddenly appears and wreaks quiet and unnoticed havoc on a simple family. One film that springs to mind is The Night of the Hunter. Though thematically different, they hit a lot of the same noir-ish notes. In Stoker, the story concerns an uncle who appears after the untimely death of the father. India (Mia Wasikowska) is an only child, who develops a fascination with funerals and death following his demise. She’s sort of like Wednesday Adams in her comedic obsession with darkness. Her mother, Evelyn Stoker (played by Nicole Kidman), does her best to connect with her daughter. They clearly have little or nothing in common. But almost immediately, her Uncle Charlie (played by Matthew Goode) shows up one day in order to help them cope. His presence is ominous enough, with his dark Wayfarers. He’s seemingly educated, well-dressed, and has a talent for cooking. This is recipe enough for suspicion.

Long-time collaborator and cinematography Chung-hoon Chung does great work here. This is perhaps his best cinematography to date. Park and Chung’ s insistence on a camera that seems to loom menacingly around our central characters, whose innocence and purity are contradicted by Uncle Charlie. While technically the film is exceedingly well-made, the script is unfortunately the weakest link in the chain. Perhaps the best actor/actress of the bunch is Nicole Kidman, but she is given very little to work with. Evelyn comes across as almost entirely secondary. She is a pawn for other characters to bounce off of and react, as opposed to her having any semblance of personality of her own. Matthew Goode shows little more than express a stable, deadpan expression that reveals or shows nothing beneath. He’s clearly miscast. Frustratingly enough, Stoker feels like an exercise in style rather than storytelling. Park’s intent is clear, however. They are meant to be a lily-white on the surface, while a dark underbelly bubbles underneath them, ready to show itself in the most violent of ways.

Unfortunately, Stoker doesn’t quite reach the heights of something like Oldboy or even Thirst. Instead its caught in the exact place where it insists that it stays: the middle. Park’s direction is excellent, but the lackadaisical writing doesn’t match up well with him. It often felt like the style was covering up for the lack of depth in the material, and the numerous literary and cinematic references were just coating an empty interior. But in spite of the problematic nature of the film, it still somehow remains enjoyable and very watchable. This is most likely due to Park’s love for the material and his utterly distinct way of directing a film. I’m afraid this review will sound far harsher than it should, but that is in due part to my disappointment with the film. However, one could arguably say that this might be the most watchable of Chan-wook Park’s films. It’s certainly easier to digest and serves more as “entertainment” than his other films do. Sadly, this was a little dispiriting for me. I certainly expected a lot more.

Stoker is fantastic. One of my favorite movies of that year.

Nice to see you back and reviewing Justin. Where you been?