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THE REVENANT

THE STORY: In the 1820s, a frontiersman named Hugh Glass sets out on a path of vengeance against those who left him for dead after a bear mauling. (via IMDb)

THE WORD: Less than a year after winning the Oscars for Best Picture, Director, and Cinematography – as well as numerous other awards – for Birdman (2014), director Alejandro González Iñárritu and cinematographer Emmanuel Lubezki (“Chivo”) are somehow already back with an even more daring, experimental, and immersive experience, The Revenant.  

Based in part on the true survival tale of Hugh Glass and the subsequent fictionalization by Michael Punke, The Revenant is a film that takes on and operates in many forms, meaning that it is a revenge yarn, revisionist Western, and meditation on man versus nature all pooled into one mesmerizing picture. Someone may wonder – how exactly can all of those aspects work in a cohesive manner?  

Through a breathtaking opening sequence, the audience is introduced to a grim collection of characters: frontiersman Hugh Glass (Leonardo DiCaprio), his “half-breed” son Hawk (Forrest Goodluck), Captain Andrew Henry (Domhnall Gleeson), criminal John Fitzgerald (Tom Hardy), and fur-trapper Jim Bridger (Will Poulter).  

At the end of a six-month hunting party, the men are finishing their pelts when they are ambushed by a Pawnee war party that is also searching for their leader, Elk Dog’s (Duane Howard) daughter, Powaqa (Melaw Nakehk’o). Through lengthy takes, the impact of unforgiving violence and desecration of the environment is exhibited in full-force. Immediately, Iñárritu has immersed his audience into the frozen Hell that he has created.

The importance of this sequence cannot be stressed enough. Besides serving as an introduction to the characters, the audience is pulled into the film’s landscape. An environment of two distinct realms: the physical and the spiritual. As previously stated, the fur-trappers are ambushed by the war party, and at the end of the sequence, there is a sweeping 180-degree pan from the hunting party escaping on the boat, back to the village they ran from, and up to the sky which is being pummeled by heavy smoke.  

This camera motion feels like a religious movement, as if existence has just been captured in a single swooping take. The way in which the clouds embrace the smoke feel reminiscent of the conclusive lamentation from Beowulf, “Heaven swallowed the smoke.” By burning up the world they live in, the destruction so grand, these physical beings have seeped their hatred and violence into the spiritual world as well. A moment such as this is so rarely achieved in film, that thanks must be dealt to all those involved. 

Following the hunting party’s escape, the men attempt to find their way home with the help of Hugh Glass. However, during a seemingly routine scavenging mission, Glass is brutally mauled by a bear and as a result, is left invalid. Brutality and conflict are non-exclusive entities in The Revenant and this battle between man and beast suggests that co-existence – had it ever even existed before – is a far-fetched thought.  

After the bear attack, Henry states that any man who elects himself to stay back and attend to Glass’ recovery will earn themselves a hefty pay. With altruistic spirit, Bridger is the first to volunteer, followed by a disgruntled and nefarious Fitzgerald. In a sense, this is where the story of The Revenant ends and the journey begins – as the narrative evolves into an arduous and ethereal poetic encapsulation of man and nature. 

There is a definite Malickian influence on the film, as its visuals of unflinching violence are met with tree tops slowly swaying in the wind. This distilled beauty within madness is as effective as ever through Chivo’s lens, and The Revenant quickly feels like a spiritual successor – or perhaps, precursor, if chronologically speaking – to Malick’s The Thin Red Line (1998). Men fight each other and destroy all that is around them, and for what? Each film has their reasons and in The Revenant it ranges from fur to family.   

Featuring a universal sense of cruelty, a sign mounted on a lynched Native American reads, “On est tous des savages (We are all savages).” If reparations are paid in the film to those wronged, it is in measures of barbarity. The phrase, “Violence begets violence,” rings throughout the picture, because if there is any reciprocity that can be counted on, it is not the exchanging of goods, but rather vicious reaction.  

The Revenant is a mirage of a film. As probably understood through this review, it’s hard to pinpoint the film’s soul – that is, what it wants to say. The textual importance of revenge diminishes over the duration, and as one of the men Glass encounters, Hikuc (Arthur RedCloud), states, “My heart bleeds, but revenge is in the creator’s hands.”  This notion of simply leaving justice in the hands of fate is an implausible idea to some, as other filmmaker’s such as Gaspar Noé have posited revenge as a human right. Yet what is human right? Is it not just purported ownership over something one has no right over, as a means of justification?

Towards the end of the film, Glass remarks, “I ain’t afraid to die anymore. I’d done it already.” Perhaps what the audience witnesses in The Revenant then is not the tale of a man’s survival, but rather a spiritual rebirth – reincarnation, if you will. Meaning that, when Glass escapes his shallow grave – nature’s womb – he spends a significant time crawling, and then learning how to walk again. We witness Glass pick up a wooden stick, and with childlike imagination, pretends to shoot a moose with it. He feeds, slowly though, as if for the first time. 

Through this rebirth, Glass is able to truly enact revenge as he is able to give it up to fate. He becomes less concerned with the man-made - the physical - and begins to find solace in the eternal once he lets go. This is supplemented with his deceased wife standing atop a hill, smiling at him (she herself perhaps reborn, as a prior image displays a bird crawling from a bullet wound in her chest). As in the beginning of the film, Earth’s smoke filled the Heavens, and now the Heavens have returned to the Earth. It is a resonant and lasting image that, within a film of such visceral savagery, is pure. 

The photography by Chivo is, again, some of the best of the year (which at this point, may just be his norm). Critics have stated that for such a rough film, it is far too polished – yet the immersion could not have existed without such refinement. Narratively and emotionally, The Revenant is largely impenetrable and rightfully such. As Chivo himself stated, “That was the other reason to shoot digital instead of film. I didn't want to have grain, I didn't want it to feel like a representation of the experience of Glass. I wanted to feel as if you are walking with him. I wanted it to be visceral, I wanted you to feel his breath and see his sweat, the tears coming out of his eyes.”  

Within DiCaprio’s portrayal of Hugh Glass, all of the aforementioned is experienced. It is a career defining performance, one that is – albeit largely silent – so deftly calculated, that not a single beat is missed. Equally matched are his supporting cast members, each with their own distinctive moment that plays elegiacally. The Revenant is a crushing film about those returned from the dead as much as those who have been living as such.  

Certainly this has already gone on for too long, so perhaps it is not my words which can sum up the cinematic bravado that is on display in The Revenant. In fact, I feel as if the words of Edward Train (John Dee Smith) from Malick’s Thin Red Line are the perfect summation of the world, characters, and soul of The Revenant: “This great evil, where's it come from? How'd it steal into the world? What seed, what root did it grow from? Who's doing this? Who's killing us, robbing us of life and light, mocking us with the sight of what we might've known? Does our ruin benefit the earth, does it help the grass to grow, the sun to shine? Is this darkness in you, too? Have you passed through this night?” 

As much of an endurance test as it is life-affirming filmmaking, The Revenant is an unflinching take on man and nature and the ways in which they conflict, and is done so in a fashion that not everyone will find catharsis in its imagery, which will no doubt lead to both adulation and condemnation. Through the direction Iñárritu, lens of Chivo, and performances from the cast, what could have easily been a soulless revenge yarn, is instead elevated to a powerful reminder of the way in which film can distill the human spirit. The Revenant, then, is a synthesis of the living and the dead, the ways in which cinema itself is an everlasting power that never truly exists.

THE VERDICT: 79

INFO: Alejandro González Iñárritu | USA | 2015 | 156min

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THE HATEFUL EIGHT

THE STORY: In post-Civil War Wyoming, bounty hunters try to find shelter during a blizzard but get involved in a plot of betrayal and deception. Will they survive? (via IMDb)

THE WORD: Opening with the first Western film score by Ennio Morricone in forty years, Quentin Tarantino’s The Hateful Eight immediately asserts itself as something special. Shot in “glorious 70mm” the landscapes pop unlike few films from the contemporary era. Visually, Hateful Eight calls back to the stunning cinematography of classic Westerns such as Shane (1953) and McCabe & Mrs. Miller (1971). A winter dreamland that quickly becomes Hell frozen over, Tarantino’s eighth film is a cinematic event. However, in typical Tarantino fashion, there is much more to the film as it carries a near three-hour running time (or just over three hours, depending on which version you’re able to see).  

Now, in order to best understand The Hateful Eight, one has to view it from two separate perspectives: the first being a slow boiling, ultra-bloody, and conversation heavy Western; the second being Tarantino’s cinematic interpretation of John Carpenter’s The Thing (1982). 

As a Western, it’s revisionist, as a Tarantino film, it’s his usual form of hyper-stylization - yet restrained in a way due to its chamber setting (the single central location calls back to Reservoir Dogs [1992]). Just as John Ford had his communities, Tarantino has created his own.  However, within the claustrophobic confines of Minnie’s Haberdashery, Tarantino surpasses Ford as he evolves his community into a nation, and as the film takes place shortly after the Civil War, it’s a nation divided. Split into North and South, the characters mingle and deliver the Tarantino-esque soliloquies and conversations that audiences have come to expect, all the while tackling subjects such as the abolishment of slavery, jingoism, and Southern economics in the Reconstruction era.  

While the aforementioned has daring potential, dialogue wise it is Tarantino at his weakest and most infantile. For whatever reason, there is the continuation of this seemingly troubling infatuation that Tarantino has come to have for the racial epithet that is, “nigger.” As previously seen in Django Unchained (2012), the form of hate speech was used freely and justified as “part of the era,” – which is still debatable - yet it is used so frequently in Hateful Eight that it feels as if it has replaced feet as Tarantino’s predominant fetish. Along with this, is a monologue delivered by Major Maqruis Warren (Samuel L. Jackson), that is at first a powerful attack against generational racism, which quickly devolves into childish profanities and an absurd reliance on sexual victimization. Of course, if one wants a morally commendable film they should venture elsewhere than Tarantino, but even when compared to the rest of his canon – The Hateful Eight is a distinct new low. 

Split into two acts, The Hateful Eight finally takes off after about ninety-minutes of the aforementioned tiring dialogue. The redeeming aspect of the first half is, of course, the performances. The titular “hateful eight” are a fantastic ensemble and the way in which they are able to elevate Tarantino’s material is a powerful feat. However, once the second act begins and the intrigue and paranoia brim to the top, The Hateful Eight finally becomes the film it was destined to be: a wonderfully deplorable pageant of over-the-top violence in which bullets explode rather than penetrate.  

This second act is a fantastic platform for Tarantino to exhibit his greatest strengths and surprisingly – especially when compared to the first half – some of his most mature work to date. The reliance on previous works melts away as the snow pummels harder, and Tarantino – for better or worse – plays with all a full deck. Utilizing the classic broken narrative style, he manages to raise the level of tension to an absurd level that, as a cinephile, is a pleasure to endure. Unfortunately, the dénouement brings the film to a bit of a halt which tilts the film back towards the awkward pacing of the first act. However, when The Hateful Eight is good, it’s some of the best filmmaking of the year. Now, for the second perspective.

As stated by Tarantino, The Hateful Eight is his, “metaphoric way of breaking down his feelings about The Thing (1982).” Having viewed both films, the similarities between The Thing and The Hateful Eight are blatantly obvious. For those who have not though, a brief rundown is that both films: take place within a winter environment in which the weather is a villain in its own right; paranoia runs rampant as no one is who they appear to be, and everyone is trapped in a central location therefore forcing them to seek out the actual identities of each other. In this sense, The Hateful Eight is a masterful exercise in interpretation.  

While The Thing is a film that pits humans against monsters that share their appearance, Hateful Eight is a film in which the characters are so morally reprehensible, that they are all monsters. Running on the same “no one gets out alive” mantra that makes The Thing such an atmospheric ride, Hateful Eight’s negation of moral ambiguity makes for an even more thrilling ride as you don’t care if anyone survives at all. No one has any idea who – if anyone at all – will live or die. This lack of assurance makes the film(s) have real stakes, and as The Thing’s R.J. MacReady (Kurt Russell) says, “No one trusts anybody now.” This revolving notion of truth is played with brilliantly by Tarantino as trust becomes a greater commodity than the bounties at stake as it can be the deciding factor over whether one survives the night.  

In this sense, Daisy Domergue (Jennifer Jason Leigh) is “the thing” of Hateful Eight as she quietly bides her time in Minnie’s Haberdashery as John Ruth (Kurt Russell) and Major Marquis Warren attempt to figure out just who exactly she has pulled into her web of deceit. Perhaps the greatest difference between the two films then, is that while “the thing” in The Thing threatens the safety of the entire world, Daisy only threatens the worlds of the characters, which to this ragtag group of selfish bastards, is far more important than the greater picture.  

Overall, The Hateful Eight works on a multitude of levels, yet finds trouble in many others. It’s a mixed bag that is equal parts thrilling and mind-numbingly dull. Yet, would it be a Tarantino film without such divineness? If anything, The Hateful Eight serves as a powerful reminder that the art-cinema is as prevalent as ever, and is a gorgeously shot, wonderfully scored Western. Just as the film has two acts, Tarantino seems to bring two sides of himself to the film as well: one, an auteur at the absolute top of his game; the other, an unfortunately infantile filmmaker that seems more concerned with unsettling and unfunny crude and racial humor than scripting a well-paced feature. Above all, while The Hateful Eight may fail to work as a cohesive whole, the titular group of performers are worth the price of admission alone as they are a truly hateful and entertaining bunch.

THE VERDICT: 46

INFO: Quentin Tarantino | USA | 2015 | 187min

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JOY

THE STORY:  Joy is the story of a family across four generations and the woman who rises to become founder and matriarch of a powerful family business dynasty. (via IMDb)

THE WORD: Following the critical successes of The Fighter (2010), Silver Linings Playbook (2012), and American Hustle (2013), David O. Russell is back with yet another awards buzzing film, Joy. Starring stablemates Jennifer Lawrence, Bradley Cooper, and Robert De Niro, the film follows four generations of women in the same family, as one – the titular Joy (Lawrence) - builds and sustains her own business empire and matriarchy. It’s as if audiences are now guaranteed an annual fourth quarter picture involving the aforementioned people, and up until now, the films have been – at the very least – entertaining. While all the films feature great performances from their respective ensembles, the quality of them began fleeting during American Hustle; a briskly paced and exciting film, that is eventually soiled by its lack of focus. Unfortunately, this trend of decline continues with Joy. 

As stated, Joy follows four generations of women in the same family, yet that logline is deceptive as Joy – based on real life Miracle Mop creator, Joy Mangano - is the focus for the duration. In fact, little back story or time is ever dedicated to the other women: Mimi (an underused Diane Ladd), Terry (Virginia Madsen), and Christie (Gia and Aundrea Gadsby). There are few – if any – scenes purposed solely for the three generations besides Joy, and in this sense, the film’s depiction of family bond is incredibly weak. Many of the film’s aspects follow suit, as what once worked and made previous features such as Silver Linings Playbook break its genre mold, now cheapen and position Joy as uninteresting Oscar bait.  

Much like Black Mass (2015), Joy is a performance vehicle. That is to say, a mere compilation of scenes made to position Jennifer Lawrence as a front runner for the Best Actress statuette. Of course, Lawrence is great and it’s a shame because the performance is wasted on such a bland script and direction. It’s as if the life has been drained from Joy, as the titular emotion or any remotely comparable forms are remiss. Rarely does anything ever feel at stake, as seasoned film viewers will easily recognize the formula the film operates on; meaning that whenever Joy loses something, she’ll gain it back within a matter of minutes. This level of inauthenticity is truly staggering and prevents the film and its ensemble from ever clicking.  

An example of this is found towards the beginning of the film, when Joy’s father Rudy (De Niro) interrogates her as to why her ex-husband Tony (Édgar Ramírez) is present at her business presentation. Joy powerfully responds, “He’s the father of my children, he’s my friend, and he looks out for me.” But does he? Is the audience supposed to simply believe Joy? Because there is little done within the film to reinforce her statement. It’s this form of detrimental complacency that Joy has with glossing over nearly everything that prevents it from finding narrative cohesion or tonal balance.  

A failure in nearly every sense, Joy is an embarrassing blemish on the relatively great track record of David O. Russell. Random stylized sequences that could otherwise offer a somewhat surreal glimpse into the mind of Joy, fall flat and disrupt the pace. The one-dimensional world and characters that inhabit it turn this would-be inspiring variation of the Citizen Kane (1941) bookend narrative into an overt rip-off that is laughably on the nose. 

Perhaps the freshness and flair of the collaborations has worn off, because while a pair such as Scorsese and De Niro or McQueen and Fassbender tackle different subjects and a mosaic of characters, Joy is a mismanaged compilation of Russell’s works: dysfunctional families, eccentric personalities, and a collective diagnosis of craziness are all present. It’s like a supercut of Russell’s greatest hits, yet redone in extremely poor fashion. Heartless, horribly paced, and narratively incoherent, if Joy is film for the holiday season, then it’s an expensive and tightly knit present that once opened, is nothing but coal and uninspired rehashing.

THE VERDICT: 7

INFO: David O. Russell | USA | 2015 | 124min

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STAR WARS: THE FORCE AWAKENS

THE STORY:  Three decades after the defeat of the Galactic Empire, a new threat arises. The First Order attempts to rule the galaxy and only a rag-tag group of heroes can stop them, along with the help of the Resistance. (via IMDb)

THE WORD: The cultural and cinematic significance of Star Wars is, to say the least, immense. The franchise of “A galaxy far, far away,” has held a force-like grip over pop culture since its sale to Disney and eventual cinematic continuation. Just as A New Hope, Empire Strikes Back, and Return of the Jedi awe struck children and adults in the late 1970s/early 1980s, it would appear that distinct sense of amazement is finally back – following the largely disappointing and confusingly bad prequel trilogy of the early 2000s – with Episode VII – The Force Awakens. 

Through the lens of once Spielberg protégé, JJ Abrams (Super 8 being his defining work thus far), The Force Awakens retains much of the wit, feel, and cinematic gusto of the series – something that Abrams already proved himself capable of with his first Star Trek installment. Now, much of what works in The Force Awakens is in thanks to its updating of A New Hope. While this does not speak to a modern look or feel – The Force Awakens thankfully blends computer generated and practical effects much like the original trilogy – it does mean that we now have an African-American lead and a female protagonist that is so incredibly bad ass – featuring subversions of the “damsel-in-distress” and lack of agency Leia was unable to secure in the original trilogy – that the film even passes the Bechdel test! Unfortunately, in terms of The Force Awakens’ similarities to A New Hope, this is where much of the pros end and the cons begin. 

As previously stated, The Force Awakens is a rehash of A New Hope. Now, what made A New Hope a great film is that it was a strange sci-fi/soap opera hybrid made by cinephile George Lucas that was largely inspired by the work(s) of Akira Kurosawa, predominantly Hidden Fortress (1958). Lucas found a particular wonderment within Japanese cinema, and as a result, wanted to cinematically translate it into something that he could explain through his own lens, and thus, Star Wars was born. A brand new universe with a rich history, the seemingly never ending battle between Light and Dark, ultimately to be decided by the Jedi (a riff on the classic samurai as well as a play on the term jidai-geki [historical period film] as Star Wars is, itself, a historical document).  

A New Hope thrived off this synthesis of Western and Eastern elements, and it would seem that the further along the series went, the less it became about the excitement that Lucas had found within Japanese cinema, and the more it became a consumerist wet dream and convoluted mess about itself (e.g., midichlorians), which is exactly where The Force Awakens falls. This retreading of familiar territory is not exciting – save for the few previously mentioned subversions – but rather tiring and ineffective. 

What was once a beautiful, bold, and original love letter to cinema as well as cinematic marvel, has now become a near satire of itself. Past characters - C3PO, Leia, and R2-D2 – come off as awkward plot conveniences or “nods to” rather than the fun and lively characters so many grew up loving. Worst of all, Han Solo is relegated to the Obi-Wan role (which leads to the film’s most powerful moment almost being laughable in its predictability). While Harrison Ford turns in one of the better performances and fails to miss a beat, its the treatment of Han Solo that falls short.

The Force Awakens does work when it isn’t concerned with blending the new with the old. Finn (John Boyega), Rey (Daisy Ridley), and new droid BB-8 are formidable and likable protagonists, while General Hux (Domhnall Gleeson) and Kylo Ren (Adam Driver) are easily the two best performances of the film as well as powerful villainous entities. Yet these remarkable feats are squandered by the film’s inability to tell a cohesive or interesting story mainly because it is, essentially, a remake. Episode VII really doesn’t feel appropriate as much as something like “Episode 4.5,” as this “Galaxy far, far away,” really doesn’t feel so far off. This is not a Star Wars for the new generation, but rather a frustrating hand-me-down.  

Ultimately, The Force Awakens is just another genuinely bad film that will no doubt break all box-office records and earn copious praise, all because it is under the banner of a major franchise. The Force Awakens could have been the fresh, bold step that the franchise has been in need of, and it certainly had the talent in order to achieve such an accomplishment. Yet the film plays it safe to the point where it feels as if the filmmakers simply traced over A New Hope and then added a couple of tweaks in the hopes of making it feel “new.” It’s upsetting when a film that has been - technically - in work for thirty-eight years fails to tread any new ground. Another Phantom Menace that’s dressed to look like A New Hope, nostalgia works against The Force Awakens, as what should have been new beginnings is nothing but a cheap recycling. 

THE VERDICT: 36

INFO: J.J. Abrams | USA | 2015 | 135min

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TANGERINE

THE STORY: A working girl tears through Tinseltown on Christmas Eve searching for the pimp who broke her heart. (via IMDb)

THE WORD: One of the most universally praised films of the year, Sean Baker’s Tangerine is an experimental drama that blends iPhone photography, radical casting, and a typically asynchronous soundtrack that makes for a loud and abrasive experience. Critics have applauded the film for its nearly non-existent budget and casting of transsexual actresses – yet remiss from a decent amount of these interviews is what the synthesis of all these non-traditional elements actually amount to. Meaning that, while the general consensus has congratulated Baker for his choices in the making of the film, the criticism is usually limited to just that – perhaps out of fear of being the minority in regards to a film largely about just that?  Tangerine is frenetic filmmaking. There are no two ways about it, the experience which Baker and his team have created is an offensive, pulsating visual miasma of hot pavement, crack smoke, body sweat, and donuts during Christmas Eve in Hollywood. Following recently released Sin-Dee (Kitana Kiki Rodriguez) as she navigates the streets of Los Angeles in hopes of finding her former lover/pimp, Chester’s (James Ransone), new lover, Dinah (Mickey O’Hagan). Along for the ride is Sin-Dee’s supposed best friend, Alexandra (Mya Taylor), and a married taxi driver, Razmik (Karren Karagulian), who holds a certain infatuation for Sin-Dee. The cast of characters is something along the lines of a Hawksian nightmare, with the film’s climax playing like the antithesis to this year’s Mistress America.   Tangerine is the anti-screwball comedy. While the film is often hilarious, the idiosyncrasy and refinement of the screwball genre is nowhere to be found, and is instead replaced by a pervasive feverishness that exhausts the viewer. Baumbach’s Mistress America is an incredible film – yet far from reality as the characters juggle a multitude of lines, rarely stepping on each other’s words. The characters of Tangerine break this cinematic rule as the Hawksian climax is moved from the typical upper class household to a relatively sketchy Donut Time where the characters find enjoyment in screaming at and over each other.  Now, the performances themselves are great. The choice of casting transsexual actresses – Rodriguez and Taylor, as well as sizable amount of extras – is a bold move, especially when considered within an industry that has proven itself as a proponent of whitewashing. Throughout the film the actresses prove themselves capable of a particular explosiveness, yet it is in the film’s few quiet moments that the performances transcend a foul nature that is reminiscent of John Waters, to becoming actual multi-layered artworks.   Moral ambiguity is the key-term here, because the majority of the characters are largely unlikable yet Baker plays with this notion quite well. Sin-Dee, in her ever crazy pursuit of revenge, calls back to Budd Boetticher’s Ride Lonesome. A film about an equally distant and awful protagonist, whose pain once realized, repaints all previous illustrations, and in this sense, Tangerine is certainly a film that deserves to be watched multiple times.  Moving onto the much talked about visual presentation, the iPhone photography works. As most gimmick films – 3D, one-shot films, black-and-white – go, there is a certain level of attention paid to the look and feel, yet like all great films, it never disrupts the actual product. The style is a compliment to the substance. However, to say that this is a new style of filmmaking as some critics have pegged it is wrong, for the aesthetic of Tangerine is easily comparable to and seemingly influenced by Nevildine/Taylor’s Crank (2006). Sure, Baker and Radium Cheung make a much better use of it, but I feel it inappropriate to not give credit where it is due.   Tangerine’s use of music is its greatest strength. As hysteric as the visuals may be, much of their power is a result of the equally hectic soundtrack. Moments such as Razmik discovering that a prostitute has a vagina rather than a penis are heightened to an unbelievable extreme as tracks such as DJ Lightup and DJ Heemie’s “Team Gotti Anthem” and Haterade & Skellism’s “Taliban” tear through the picture like a knife through the skull. It’s a bold synthesis of audio and visuals, and once combined with Baker’s bravado editing, Tangerine can certainly be viewed as a stylistic breakthrough.    However, the film’s final minutes negate this commitment to the absurd as Baker opts for an attempt at resonance which feels dishonest within the diegesis. Yes, these characters are authentic and they feel pain just like us, yet following the pageantry of seemingly improvised disgust that the viewer is subjected to, the conclusion feels far too scripted and stilted. From zig-zagging across the screen and cross-cutting various instances of debauchery, Tangerine suffers from its eventual evolution into overtly staged static imagery.

Overall, Tangerine is commendable for its grand use of low-budget ($100,000) and progressive casting choices. Yet there is much more at play than just that. Tangerine is visceral and morally challenging filmmaking from a still evolving auteur. It’s as if The Wizard of Oz (1939) only took place within the tornado, and as a portrait of Hollywood, it’s a myth shattering artwork. Ultimately, Tangerine is a brave and hypnotic ride that unfortunately gives into the conventions that, for much of its duration, works against.  

THE VERDICT: 75

INFO: Sean Baker | USA | 2015 | 88min

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LOVE

THE STORY:  Murphy is an American living in Paris who enters a highly sexually and emotionally charged relationship with the unstable Electra. Unaware of the effect it will have on their relationship, they invite their pretty neighbor into their bed. (via IMDb)

THE WORD: “There are many movies that contain what people call explicit genuine sex scenes and ones that show simulated sex. Both can be exciting. What's important isn't whether it’s real sex or simulated but what emotion it transports. And I don't think there are so many movies that transport sex as a real passion.” And so goes Argentinian French visionary Gaspar Noé’s newest cinematic experiment, Love 3D. Far more about sentimentality than eroticism, Love is a film that prefers to evoke a memory of a long lost lover than arouse the participant viewer. Of course, the presentation of unsimulated sex never goes without controversy, and given the 3D nature of the film, there are certain moments when Noé appears to be more provocateur than photographer. Yet the 3D – while used for gimmick in a couple of obviously comedic moments – serves as a medium of enhanced intimacy rather than popcorn extravagance. Noé wishes to and achieves in placing the viewer in the bedroom with his forlorn lovers.   Utilizing a fractured narrative, the film follows American cinema student, Murphy (Karl Glusman), as he studies in Paris and falls for aspiring artist and party animal, Electra (Aomi Muyock). The two embark upon a one night stand that evolves into a passionate love affair. Considering the couple’s drug intake and playful infidelity, all seems well – until the arrival of neighbor, Omi (Klara Kristin). Following a threesome flawlessly set to Funkadelic’s “Maggot Brain,” Murphy and Electra begin to drift until an irreversible event ruptures their tender love for each other. A year or so later, we witness Murphy – now fathering a child with Omi – reflect upon his relationship with Electra through opium induced dreams and memories.  Photographed in signature Noé fashion, collaborator and cinematographer Benoît Debie creates a Paris consumed with mood lighting. Given that 3D darkens color, Love is a depressed film whose presentation of passion illuminates the dimmest bedrooms, hallways, and night clubs. As previously stated, the 3D in play is one previously unfound. Just as Godard gave us iPhones, philosophizing men on the toilet, and a dog wandering a beach in his Goodbye to Language 3D, Noé has utilized the mainstream technique as a new art-house medium for immersing an audience with their subjects. Exceeding the role of voyeur, the audience is as much a participant as Omi or any other character that comes into contact with the fatalistic lovers.  Most interesting about Love, is the connections it makes to the previous entrants of Noé’s filmography. The seemingly never ending frenetic and hate-filled inner monologue of I Stand Alone is subdued to casual whispers and reflections. The unforgettable hallway from Irreversible is subverted as Murphy and Electra find their own hallway of deepened reds in which they make love. And finally, the inclusion of Enter the Void’s “Love Hotel” as well as a recreation of the shocking image of a penis penetrating a vagina (from the viewpoint of inside the vagina). However, this shot is brought to even greater heights in Love with a consummation that posits this film as both a cinematic and analytic culmination of Noé’s career thus far.   Meaning that, the pervasive reverse shots of Murphy as well as the seeming comfort he finds in neon and accent lit environments, posits him as the potential reincarnation of Enter the Void’s Oscar (Nathaniel Brown). While this is certainly a shot in the dark, it is through the aforementioned that Love feels very much like the cinematic bridge between Noé’s past as well as what his future – in filmmaking – may bring. Without a doubt Noé’s most personal and deeply felt film thus far, the inclusion of characters named Gaspar (Ugo Fox) and Noé (a suspect Aaron Pages) appear of little coincidence.   As reserved as it is – quite literally at times – in your face, Love intersperses Noé’s typical erratic and violent behavior(s) for brief moments rather than profiling them at large. Love is the first of Noé’s features where the climax isn’t influenced by hate, bigotry, and/or misogyny, but rather love, sentimentality, honesty, and passion. This subversion may not seem like much, but in the oeuvre of Noé, it is a profound change of pace that works. While some have criticized the film as a tedious experiment, it is through the lengthy sexual encounters that truth is found. As seen in the films of Béla Tarr, the inclusion of the elongated tracking shot provides spatial and temporal awareness that elicits honesty in the film.   Poignant and timeless in its portrayal of sentimentality, the ill-fated characters of Love are ones that may not always warrant sympathy, but are wonderfully human all the more because of it. In fact, it is a rarity to find characters that are written so honestly. Explosive in every aspect, Love is rife with broken figures that may think they know passion, yet once introduced to do it are never the same. An orgy of heated and heartbreaking imagery, Gaspar Noé’s Love is an experiment that works amazingly, and is above all, a rewriting of the possibilities of sex within cinema.

THE VERDICT: 95 INFO: Gaspar Noé | France | 2015 | 2.35:1 | 135min

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TAXI

THE STORY:  Jafar Panahi is banned from making movies by the Iranian government, he poses as a taxi driver and makes a movie about social challenges in Iran. (via IMDb)

THE WORD: While various auteurs around the globe continuously produce features that amaze their audiences, it is Iran’s own enfant terrible, Jafar Panahi, whose dedication and contribution to cinema remains nearly unmatched. Following brief imprisonment in 2010 and a twenty-year sentencing ban on filmmaking, Panahi is legally prohibited from, “…making or directing any movies, writing screenplays, giving any form of interview with Iranian or foreign media as well as leaving the country except for Hajj holy pilgrimage to Mecca or medical treatment.”   Since the sentencing, Panahi has managed to have his documentary This Is Not a Film (2011) – which was smuggled out of the country on a USB drive that was concealed within a cake – and the covertly shot Closed Curtain (2013) premiere at festivals around the globe. Now, with yet another follow-up and his third post-ban film, Panahi finally returns to the streets of Tehran with Taxi.  Experimental and casual in concept, Taxi is a film that takes place wholly within what its title suggests. Panahi, who is simply referred to as “Mr. Panahi” for much of the film’s duration, plays a filmmaker posing as a cab driver who awkwardly and confusedly attempts to navigate the streets of a busy Tehran. Ousted multiple times by various fare riders, Panahi blurs the line between fiction and reality by implementing a sort of meta-neo-realism (that is akin to fellow Iranian filmmaker, Abbas Kiarostami).   What this “meta-neo-realism” provides is equally measured glimpses into the mind of the artist as well as the world he inhabits. Supporting this are interspersed moments of references to and critiques of Panahi’s own filmography. Meaning that, while “the taxi” is a literal taxi cab that shuffles its riders from one location to the other, Taxi is also a mobile stream of consciousness for the director to converse about issues that he is no longer able to (within the comforting confines of cinema).   Balancing a cast of characters that features a preaching “freelance” mugger, a pirated DVD smuggler, elderly superstitious women, and even Panahi’s own niece, Taxi is a typically lighthearted affair that is able to create a powerful social dialogue amidst the never ending car horns and turn signals. While the conversations tend to veer between social commentary and film criticism, there is a certain importance placed upon the cinema that is deeply felt.   Above all, Taxi is an inspiring cinematic experience. Panahi is a truly brave and courageous auteur that continues to push the limits of cinema even when faced with danger. A love letter to his craft as much as it is an incredibly frustrated essay about the country which he dearly loves, Panahi’s Taxi is a scenic ride through Iran’s capital that serves as a portrait as well as a deconstruction of the city and its artist. 

THE VERDICT: 88

INFO: Jafar Panahi | Iran | 2015 | 1.78:1 | 82min 

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The films of Pier Paolo Pasolini contain horrifying images of grotesque mutilations and perverse sexual acts. Yet never controversial for the sake of controversy, Pasolini illuminated the darker side of mankind. Always rooting the fantastical within reality - it is an interesting point to make that Pasolini utilized sets for his magnum opus, Salò, a far too real tale that was too gruesome for the actual landscapes of this world. It is a shame that 40 years ago today, Pasolini met a fate much similar to those of his characters. Tortured by fire and castrated, it can be said that Pasolini was murdered for his radical political views and being openly homosexual in a far too critical and hypersensitive world.

Rest In Power to a master of cinema, and may his pageantry of violence and obscenity live on forever.

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BLACK MASS

THE STORY:  The true story of Whitey Bulger, the brother of a state senator and the most infamous violent criminal in the history of South Boston, who became an FBI informant to take down a Mafia family invading his turf. (via IMDb) THE WORD: The old adage of, “No one ever sets out to make a bad movie,” still rings true to this day, yet it can be said that certain films are created for a particular purpose. Now, before continuing it must be noted that Scott Cooper’s Black Mass is not a bad film. The reason for this being that it isn’t much of a film at all. In fact, Black Mass is as much of a movie as a magazine ad promoting a new product is a novel. To better understand this, the aforementioned must be explicated.   As stated, certain films are made for particular purposes. For instance, the Transformers series as money grabbing blockbusters and on the other end of the spectrum, the films of auteurs such as Gaspar Noé or Shin’ya Tsukamoto that seek to push the boundaries of conventional filmmaking. Now, somewhere between these two are features that bait its audiences as well as awards voters. Typically referred to as “Oscar bait,” these movies are typically biographical and/or historical pictures (a couple notable being 2004’s Best Picture winner, Crash, and last year’s American Sniper). Much is abandoned and the grey areas are stricken black-and-white so that it appeases to the general public and most importantly, Academy voters (76% of which are men, 94% of them being white, sharing an average age of 63). Given such a demographic, it comes as no surprise that many of these film’s missteps are overlooked due to their subject matter(s).   Rather than a cohesive narrative – which is not a necessity depending on the feature – the “Oscar bait” film is comprised of set pieces and “moments.” Now, in the case of Black Mass, the story is that of Whitey Bulgar, one of the most notorious U.S. criminals. Played by a “barely recognizable” Johnny Depp – which could be its own subgenre at this point – a greater importance is placed upon the actor than his subject before the opening credits rol. Rarely does Black Mass ever feel like a film about Whitey Bulgar as much as it is simply a showcase for Depp. The most upsetting of which is that Depp is fantastic. Yet the film sculpted around him is so catered to his presence that it in the end it all feels largely unauthentic.   Highly reminiscent of Martin Scorsese’s The Departed, Black Mass is a south Boston crime tale that spans a multitude of years. Opting for a flashback narrative, Black Mass is relatively told in reflections by former members of Bulgar’s gang. This is where the issues first begin. For the audience to invest in a story, especially one in which they know the ending to, there has to be intrigue, suspense, and resonance. Black Mass has none of these as the script awkwardly clunks along through a horde of pacing and dialogue issues. Brutal for the sake of a supposed gritty realism that is hardly discovered as the scenes outside of the violent episodes are stilted, obviously staged, and dramatically inept. However, there are some fine moments delivered by the supporting players, most notably Peter Sarsgaard, Joel Edgerton, and Rory Cochrane.   In the end, Black Mass hardly ever feels like the Whitey Bulgar story that audiences were promised. It’s a platform crated for Johnny Depp to deliver an award worthy performance (which had it been anything less would have been the ultimate blow). Harrowing moments are negated by lousy photography and it’s an easily forgettable puff piece. Scott Cooper fails to ever find a workable rhythm, and as a result, audiences are baited into a two-hour long awards campaign trailer for Depp. THE VERDICT: 14 INFO: Scott Cooper | USA | 2015 | 2.35:1 | 122min

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SICARIO

THE STORY: An idealistic FBI agent is enlisted by an elected government task force to aid in the escalating war against drugs at the border area between the U.S. and Mexico. (via IMDb)

THE WORD: Following the one-two knockout of Prisoners and Enemy, Denis Villeneuve returns to the big screen with drug war thriller, Sicario. As noted through intertitles in the film’s opening moments, “sicario” is Spanish – as well as Portuguese - for “hitman.” Derived from the Latin “sicarius,” the term was used to describe the “dagger men” of the Providence of Judea. With so many murders having taken place in Rome around the first century A.D., “Sicarius” eventually became part of Roman Law in 81 A.D. to denote a vicious stabbing. This notion then, of numerous cloaked figures with hidden daggers taking out many of the Empire’s people is the perfect inspiration for Villeneuve’s film. For just as fear gripped Rome at the turn of the first century, Villeneuve and his team - screenwriter Taylor Sheridan, composer Jóhann Jóhannsson, and cinematographer Roger Deakins - fill their Arizona, Texas, and Mexico with the same amount of insufferable dread.  While certainly coined as a “drug war” film, to think of Sicario within such a condensed frame would be a severe injustice. In fact, Sicario identifies more with films such as The Silence of the Lambs and Amat Escalante’s Heli than it does with Savages, Miami Vice, or Traffic. Just as in Villeneuve’s Enemy, the drama of Sicario is more of a mask for the thriller and ultimately the horror based nature of the film to guise itself under. The hitman operates more like Buffalo Bill or the nameless torturers in Heli than gun-for-hire Francisco Flores of Traffic. Sicario – just as in its Latin beginnings – is a film of characters who are given names yet remain seemingly nameless. Bleak, despondent, and misanthropic, Sicario is a film where drugs are present, yet only appear to be a symptom of a much larger problem that is harder to eradicate: humanity.  This presentation of humans in Sicario is that of a vicious and violent breed. Repugnant and maintaining both a cold grip on as well as a distance from each other, characters are introduced through and brilliantly limited by off-color remarks such as, “It hurts to piss,” as well as brooding glances and violent outbursts. A film of little dialogue, so that when words do play a heavy role, they are about as useful as the ghostly character’s names. As Villeneuve himself states, “Movies are about movement, character, and presence,” much of which can be found in Deakins’ photography, making Sicario no exception to the remark.  Weighing upon the viewer’s chest, adding pressure in miniscule increments until it begins to slowly crush, Sicario is Deakins’ best work since his landmark 2007 year (No Country for Old Men, In the Valley of Elah, and Assassination of Jesse James.) Playing to the character’s psyches, the viewer is granted distances both intimate and removed; for instance, Kate before and after the extradition of cartel affiliated Guillermo (Edgar Arreola). Initially the viewer is invited into close quarters with the eager FBI Agent, yet following the carnage of the excursion, is kept at a field’s length distance from the now shaken idealist.   As previously stated, Villeneuve understands the relationship between movement and character. For example, dressing Alejandro (Benicio Del Toro) in a khaki suit that blends into his surroundings, he remains a mysterious figure that, once figured out, becomes a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Predatory and visceral, the photography echoes the actions of its players and at its climax shakes the very core of the viewer. Reminiscent of the night vision goggle sequence in The Silence of Lambs, Sicario enters the literal underground into a thermal nightmare that brings the brutality full circle.   Each aspect of Sicario compliments the other in a manner-less form. There are no handshakes, no happy greetings, or joyous conclusions. Just as in the end of most slasher or monster movies, either in the final moments or post-credits, an eye opens or a fist clenches signaling that the beast still exists. Sicario is a beast of itself. Knowing full well that the War on Drugs is a losing battle, the film isn’t concerned with how to win the game, but rather how to control it. As a result, humanity falls down yet another peg on the scale of morality. The cinematic equivalent of a snake consuming itself, Sicario is a self-destructive and explosive ride through the dry heat of Hell. The real victims being the unfortunate souls that are born into the never ending cycle of greed and violence. That in this world of wolves and sheep, the general public are nothing but eventual casualties. Villeneuve’s finest cinematic effort to date. 

THE VERDICT: 92 INFO: Denis Villeneuve | USA | 2015 | 2.35:1 | 121min

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THE GREEN INFERNO

THE STORY: A group of student activists travels to the Amazon to save the rain forest and soon discover that they are not alone, and that no good deed goes unpunished. (via IMDb)   THE WORD: Having been eight years since his last feature film, Eli Roth returns with a gore filled homage to Deodato and Lenzi, The Green Inferno. Originally the film-within-the-film in Deodato’s Cannibal Holocaust, Roth extrapolates the title into a new hellish beast. The Green Inferno is part-satire, part-social commentary, all masked under the guise of Herzogian photography deep in an Amazon that even Aguirre would plead escape from. However, while such prolific influences are numerous, Roth rarely cements himself as a worthy heir to their blood soaked thrones.  Given the satiric nature of the film, there are plenty of cringe inducing moments that involve neither gore nor cannibalism, but rather just dialogue so stiff and politically maligned that it feels straight out of an Andy Sidaris feature. While there is an apparent yearning to replicate stilted presentations of the past, Roth places his one-dimensional characters into a literary nightmare that offers absolutely zero insight, but rather foolish quips such as, “Activism is gay.”  Not arriving to the cannibal’s village until forty-five minutes into the feature, a substantial amount of time is spent with the doomed collegiate activist group. While sympathy feels like an afterthought, it’s upsetting that any sort of emotive enticement at all seems remiss. As a result, the build to the eventual torture of these young souls comes off as filler rather than a thematic foundation.   Again, while the influences are many, Roth hardly elaborates on any of the icons’ work that he so obviously admires. This is what hurts the film the most, as The Green Inferno suffers from missing so many of the facets that made Deodato and Lenzi’s features great: Ortolani’s brooding score, Lenzi’s karmic sense of character, and the authenticity of real life horror. Rather than investing in any of the aforementioned elements, Roth opts for childish and crude antics that prevent the suspension of disbelief, which ultimately negates much of the horror.  However, things certainly do pick up once the students arrive at the village. The make-up work by Savini protégé, Gregory Nicotero, is a fantastic example of adherence to the past splatter features that works on a present day level. It would be hard to imagine viewers stepping into the film for reasons other than the impending gore fest, and on this level, The Green Inferno delivers. Rife with bodily excrement, amputation, aberrant sexuality, and seemingly never ending mutilation, the village sequences live up to their expectations. However, given the overt social commentary – something that was wonderfully subdued yet explosive in Deodato’s Cannibal Holocaust – pacing issues remain as well as an imbalanced atmosphere that largely takes away from the more horrifying moments.  While it may not be the modern day reimagining of the infamous cannibal features that viewers perhaps longed for, Eli Roth still makes his best attempt. It is certainly spirited and over-the-top enough to truly exhibit Roth’s passion and love for horror, yet the aforementioned hardly translates into a watchable film. Rather than a fresh spin on the cannibal midnight feature, it’s a banal attempt at recreation.

THE VERDICT: 25 INFO: Eli Roth | Chile | 2015 | 2.35:1 | 100min

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DEATHGASM

THE STORY: Two teenage boys unwittingly summon an ancient evil entity known as The Blind One by delving into black magic while trying to escape their mundane lives. (via IMDb) THE WORD: In a renaissance year for independent horror - e.g., The Voices, It Follows, Goodnight Mommy, The Visit, and The Witch - comes Deathgasm. A metal-horror hybrid that feels like early on, blood soaked Peter Jackson by way of Dismember’s “Casket Garden,” yet manages to evolve into a beast entirely of its own. For gore hounds and sick thrills seeking midnight madness crowds, Deathgasm is a film that operates in all caps and rightfully so as one of its protgaonists, Zakk (James Blake), exclaims that, “Lower case is for pussies.” A seemingly classic case of demonic ritual infused with raging riffs, Deathgasm follows the blood bound friendship of teenage metalheads, Zakk and Brodie (Milo Cawthorne). Servants to the unholy verses of bands such as Death, Skinless, and the fictional Haxan Sword - hopefully featuring Benjamin Christensen on axe - these corpse painted and gauntlet wearing protagonists are best referenced as the headbanging answers to Shaun of the Dead’s Shaun and Ed.  The debut full-length feature of seasoned visual effects artist, Jason Lei Howden, Deathgasm may not possess much interest in that of the intellectual, in fact the film is unabashedly crude and violent, yet the obsession with that of the inane works largely in its favor. Fully aware of its presentation and confident in its vision, Deathgasm is a rare case of witching hour insanity that actually works. For far too often are audiences subjected to the typical and tiresome gore fests that once concluded, merely drain away from the mind much like the blood of its victims.   Rooted deeply within metal culture, Deathgasm is a largely for and by the outcasts; those who have experienced social exclusion and found in solace in artistic mediums outside of the mainstream. In fact, much of the humor rises from the simple notion that while the majority of a New Zealand town is overrun by eye-gouged demons, that the protagonists are still somehow the rejects as a slew of characters still find ways to ostracize them. Full of one-liners in reference to various subcultures and genres, Deathgasm is as much a passionate tribute for those who will understand them as well as just a damn fine modern day horror film. For as the bell tolls for all in this world, daily divergence from the tiring and trivial routines of life become necessary. Humans seek powerful fiction and thrills, and Deathgasm offers both. Certainly, the film has its own share of drawbacks, but the bulk becomes overlookable as it is sick enough to make Varg Vikernes smile and honest enough for the kid throwing up the devil horns by himself to feel less alone, Deathgasm is post-VHS horror at its best. THE VERDICT: 77 INFO: Jason Lei Howden | New Zealand | 2015 | 2.35:1 | 86min

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MAGIC MIKE XXL

THE STORY: Three years after Mike bowed out of the stripper life at the top of his game, he and the remaining Kings of Tampa hit the road to Myrtle Beach to put on one last blow-out performance. (via IMDb)

THE WORD: In a year with striking revisionist and neo-Westerns – e.g., Michael Mann’s stilted yet stylistically signature, Blackhat, and John Maclean’s existentially bleak, Slow West – it comes as a surprise that the best of the bunch is a road trip odyssey rife with pulsating beats and pelvic gyrations. Enter Magic Mike XXL, the visually sumptuous sequel to 2012’s boy-meets-world drama of the same name (minus the size statement). Taking place three years after the first installment’s events, the once center stage Mike Lane is found off to the side, gazing across an empty beach into the endless ocean that is eerily reminiscent of the infinite blue voids that Godard utilizes in Pierrot le fou, Contempt, In Praise of Love, and last year’s Goodbye to Language 3D. Immediately, change is felt along with the signaling of the end of an era. As previously seen in Magic Mike, male stripper – or “entertainer” as the film’s characters point out – is a niche occupation that caters to a particular audience. Much then like the old gunslingers of the West, Mike and Co. attempt to survive as they witness their profession under the thumb of extinction, as society progresses towards an age where technology negates the need for physicality vis-à-vis intimacy. Set over the course of a three-day journey to an annual National Stripper Expo, Mike rejoins his boys: Ken, Tito, Tobias, Tarzan, and Big Dick Richie for, “One last ride,” in hopes of going out in, “a tsunami of dollar bills.” Initially, the protagonist’s final wishes can be seen as vapid or even self-aggrandizing, yet once a few minutes are spent with the boys – a far better summer grouping of men than the awfully misogynist Entourage gang – and the intentions are redefined through their respective dreams as well as collective passion for their craft. Briskly paced – largely in thanks to Steven Soderbergh’s equally eccentric and focused editing - with brief conversations and anecdotes sufficing in the provision of admiration and empathy for Mike and his friends, the road trip is a non-stop barrage of seemingly hedonistic antics that would make even Geoffrey Chaucer proud of this pilgrimage. However, Magic Mike XXL has a heart, so much so that the presumed self-indulgent nature of male sexuality is replaced by an altruistic hedonism. Which is to say, that both parties – men and women alike – are able to find pleasure in the shared moments of exotic intimacy. In fact, this notion of empowering and satisfying the female quickly becomes the film’s central theme. Through the powerful performance of Jada Pinkett Smith, Magic Mike XXL is able to project a previously unfound voice: that of the strong female. As Smith’s Rome proclaims throughout the film, each and every woman is a queen that deserves to be treated as such. This is where the notion of the aforementioned altruistic hedonism comes into play. While the men are hyper-sexualized, it is a wonderful subversion that plays to the satisfaction of the women as well as the enjoyment that Mike and his friends gain from simply creating memorable moments. The reciprocation of sexual gratification ultimately serves as a progressive concept for mainstream cinema as women are consistently subjected to hyper-sexualization without any cause other than to serve as eye candy. Now, how Magic Mike XXL succeeds in this is largely through the cinematography of Steven Soderbergh (i.e., Peter Andrews). Avoiding a gender and sexually oriented gaze, Soderbergh heeds attention towards the focus and geometrics of the shot. Through wide lens, Soderbergh is able celebrate the marriage of vibrant visuals and titillating choreography; multiple diagonals cutting across each other, sectioning off various pieces as if the screen were a graspable dessert. The spectacle of exotic dance becomes a pristine art form as bodies and chairs are aggressively flipped and thrown with the utmost grace and appreciation. This sensation is felt throughout the film’s stimulating set pieces, yet most especially during the climactic final performance, in which Soderbergh utilizes long takes to create a massive yet intimate atmosphere that places the viewer alongside the excited crowd in the convention hall. Resultantly, the convention performance is comparable to that of the final gunfight in Peckinpah’s The Wild Bunch. With the adventure experienced thus far being the “one last ride,” as the men enter the room the collective goal is understood: leave it all on the stage and go out with a bang. Much like Pike and his men, Mike and his boys realize that their time is up whether they like it or not. So why not then celebrate this culmination of exhilarating debauchery in the most spectacular fashion that they know? In this sense Magic Mike XXL is perhaps the greatest neo-Western in recent memory, as it is the simple yet effective tale of men with no discernible future in a rapidly changing world. Just as Peckinpah’s hardened gunslingers would go out in extreme fashion with pistol in hand, the Magic Mike XXL gang says farewell while gripping hard their own prized members. By ditching cell phones and returning themselves to the Seinfeld era of physical human interaction, Magic Mike XXL is a wonderfully hilarious and heartfelt self-aware odyssey. As much an empowerment and celebration of the female as it is about friendship and the connections one makes through life, there is not a moment in Magic Mike XXL that one could potentially fail to find joy in. A bookend fable that relies upon the same American mythos as so many Westerns before it, it seems only fitting that in the final shot Mike is once again photographed front and center. Rather than off to the side and alone on the beach as previously seen in the film’s opening shot, Mike rests on the boardwalk, surrounded by his closest friends watching fireworks that are beautifully imagined. The scene is an incomparable warmth that blankets itself over the screen, as well as a cathartic adieu as Mike was able to relive the excitement of being center stage just one last time. THE VERDICT: 94 INFO: Gregory Jacobs | USA | 2015 | 2.35:1 | 115min

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INTO THE WOODS

THE STORY: A witch tasks a childless baker and his wife with procuring magical items from classic fairy tales to reverse the curse put on their family tree. (via IMDb)

THE WORD: Adapted from the beloved stage musical of the same name, Rob Marshall's cinematic telling of Into the Woods is a two-hour long defiling of the source material. Wholly uninspired, uninteresting, and an overtly banal revision of the original story, Into the Woods falls short of even the "so bad it's good," territory. Rife with fairy tale lore, the plot consists of an orgy of intersections throughout the woods. Featuring classic staples such as Cinderella, Jack, Red Riding Hood, and Rapunzel, Into the Woods is a magical journey about the obstacles of life as well as what comes after the "happy ending." However, there is little to no magic to be found within the adaptation.  While Marshall's distaste for CGI is admirable - ultimately resulting in the more grand scale moments having a larger impact - the world he creates isn't intriguing enough to create a balance between the two. As if Cinderella's hope for finding a place in between a dream and a nightmare is shared by the film, the central plot is so surprisingly dull that the would-be immersion into this fantastical land is never felt.  The "dark" variations of the tales along with Disney's family friendly revisions make for a tonally awkward experience as well. While themes such as infidelity, sterility, pedophilia, and false promises run wild in the woods, the lack of execution and shuffling away from their obvious nature makes the choice to censor an obvious money grabbing act of cowardice rather than an artistically righteous attempt to generalize the source content. Another abomination in a series of Hollywood adaptations, Into the Woods suffers from lack of conviction as well as unengaging characters/plot. In fact, if it weren't for the curious variations of Little Red and Jack, as well as performances of the two leads and Emily Blunt, this could very well have been the worst film of the year.

THE VERDICT: 11

INFO: Rob Marshall | USA | 2014 | 2.35:1 | 125min

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SON OF A GUN

THE STORY: Locked up for a minor crime, 19 year old JR quickly learns the harsh realities of prison life. Protection, if you can get it, is paramount. JR soon finds himself under the watchful eye of Australia's most notorious criminal, Brendan Lynch. (via IMDb)

THE WORD: It's an exciting moment when the first film you view from the forthcoming year can be considered the first great cinematic experience as well. Julius Avery's feature debut, Son of a Gun, is just that.

After a slew of successful short films, one could predict Avery's transition to feature length storytelling would consist of more cons than pros. However, Son of a Gun is without a doubt one of the better debuts in a long while. Sure, the film features its share of minor problems such as underdeveloped supporting characters as well as some unnecessary plot retreading in hopes of increasing dramatic effect. Yet through the uncompromising directorial vision of Avery as well as McGregor's powerhouse performance, the aforementioned amateur missteps become simple to glance over.  Paced at a breakneck speed, every time you think to have the film figured out, Avery either switches location or raises the stakes. This style of action and plot synthesized together makes for a beyond thrilling viewing, and when the film opts to ease the brakes, the delicately understated nature of it all becomes fully realized. An exhilarating premiere feature, Son of a Gun manages to work on a multitude of cinematic levels that thrills near effortlessly. McGregor turns in a fantastic performance, and while Vikander is misused in certain aspects, remains a rising star to look out for. Overall, Son of a Gun is a briskly paced, edge-of-your-seat breath of fresh air to the genre.

THE VERDICT: 82

INFO: Julius Avery | Australia | 2015 | 2.35:1 | 108min

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THE HUNGER GAMES: MOCKINGJAY - PART 1

THE STORY: When Katniss destroys the games, she goes to District 13 after District 12 is destroyed. She meets President Coin who convinces her to be the symbol of rebellion, while trying to save Peeta from the Capitol. (via IMDb)

THE WORD: Thus far, The Hunger Games series has failed to captivate me in the same discernibly universal fashion it has with the majority of the cinema going public. While the previous two installments have at least boasted a certain level of entertainment, the heavy handed social commentary as well as the imbalanced pace have prevented them from becoming anything more than another predictably dull big budget YA adaptation. Fortunately, Jennifer Lawrence's charisma as well the as the gorgeous art and costume direction have managed to posit the Hunger Games and Catching Fire as bearable blockbusters. However, in the case of Mockingjay - Part 1, there are no saving graces to be found. Hardly a film but rather a two-hour long trailer to promote the - hopefully - entertaining and climactic finale to the series, Mockingjay - Part 1 is an across the board disaster. As previously stated, pace has always been a prominent  complication in the success of the features, and in Mockingjay - Part 1 there doesn't even seem to be an attempt to create one. The most bland and deceptively anticlimactic blockbuster in years, Mockingjay - Part 1 opts for a palette of rubble and granite as it abandons the previously colorful visions of "utopia" juxtaposed with jarring glimpses of war. Granted, in terms of plot this is a suitable departure, but as a whole, the decision to divide the final book into two parts creates a dreadful rift in the story; the separation as unwarranted as this first part fails to work on a feature film level. Far more of an elongated prologue/set-up to the finale than the would-be enticing penultimate bridge, Mockingjay - Part 1 neuters all facets that have worked for the series thus far. Lawrence is as bland as the tiring grays, and with a far too serious tone the dramatic moments that should have resonated are laughably campy. A lazy exercise in the creation, purpose, and utilization of propaganda, Mockingjay - Part 1 is one of the worst films of the year, but will still go on to gross $1 billion worldwide.

THE VERDICT: 12/100

INFO: Francis Lawrence | USA | 2014 | 2.35:1 | 123min

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MEN, WOMEN & CHILDREN

THE STORY: A group of high school teenagers and their parents attempt to navigate the many ways the Internet has changed their relationships, their communication, their self-image, and their love lives. (via IMDb)

THE WORD: Following his lackluster and awkward Labor Day adaptation, Jason Reitman brings another novel to the silver screen, this time in the form of Chad Kultgen's Men, Women & Children. A modern day examination of relationships and morality via society's obsession with technology, the various pop-up screens, ads, and messages themselves become extensions of the characters rather than images merely projected upon the screen. While "fearless" isn't an adjective I'd use to describe the feature, Men, Women & Children is an incredibly topical and technically rich approach to the source material and subject matter. Utilizing a mosaic of characters to construct his vision of the technologically saturated society in which we now live, Reitman manages to allow breathing room to the immense cast in an Altman-esque fashion, which is perhaps the film's greatest accomplishment. Various glimpses rather than sequences allow for a quick pace as well as greater effect when the film chooses to slow down.  Detractors of the feature have labeled it as "overbearing" and "banal," yet after the tonally weak Labor Day and with Reitman's opus, Up in the Air, in mind, Men, Women & Children  works in a resonate form. With performances consisting of mostly subdued glances, reactions, and whispers, the world created is similar to that of Cronenberg's Cosmopolis. Where everything can be viewed and/or bought except reason and emotion, and the necessity of constantly being plugged in and informed allows for an instant gratification yet serves as the characters' ultimate downfall as well. Albeit patronizing and pretentious at times through its overt reliance on Sagan's "Pale Blue Dot" and its presentation/execution of certain themes, overall, Men, Women & Children serves as a proper step forward in a return to form for Reitman.

THE VERDICT: 66/100

INFO: Jason Reitman | USA | 2014 | 1.85:1 | 119min