The Woman in the Window

Director: Joe Wright
Starring: Amy Adams, Gary Oldman, Anthony Mackie, Fred Hechinger, Wyatt Russell, Brian Tyree Henry, Julianne Moore, Jennifer Jason Leigh, Tracy Letts
Running Time: 100 min.
Rating: R 

★★ ½ (out of ★★★★)  

The most surprising aspect of Joe Wright's long gestating The Woman in the Window is how underwhelming the results are given the staggering amount of talent involved. Of course, this happens, as movies collecting dust in post-production are frequently dumped onto streaming services with little to no fanfare. But in this instance, Netflix actually went to some lengths to promote it, perhaps hoping the cast's pedigree would overcome its creative flaws, which keep piling up as its story becomes more involved and convoluted. It starts with rather transparent aspirations of honoring Hitchcock or De Palma before devolving into an inferior Scream sequel in its second half, complete with a clumsy reveal. And that's a shame since you can kind of see the skeletal framework of a film that may have really worked under different circumstances, as a few stronger performances seem in search of the better material these actors mistakenly thought they signed onto.

Based on a 2018 bestseller by A.J. Finn, that this script was adapted by Tony-winning playwright (and gifted character actor) Tracy Letts leads you to believe something got lost on its journey from his pen to the screen. That it was supposed to be released in late 2019 confirms as much, as viewers will be jumping through hoops to deal with some of the arbitrary contrivances before reaching an ending that lands with a thud. While there are laughs to be had, it mostly takes itself too seriously for that, especially when information comes to light that would have ended the film ten minutes after it started. Knowing this, it's unlikely many would have stuck around for the over-the-top third act that wraps up what's been a strange and wildly inconsistent mystery.

Depressed, agoraphobic child psychologist Anna Fox (Amy Adams) lives alone in her Manhattan brownstone apartment after separating from her husband Edward (Anthony Mackie), who currently has custody of their daughter, Olivia (Mariah Bozeman). Mixing drinks and medications on a daily basis, Anna's psychiatrist Dr. Landy (Letts) becomes concerned with her obsession of watching all the neighbors from a second floor window, while also acknowledging that interest could be a subtle sign of progress in her therapy. But when spouses Alistair (Gary Oldman) and Jane (Julianne Moore) Russell move in across the street with their teen son, Ethan (Fred Hechinger), Anna's takes her spying to another level.

After two separate encounters with a clearly dispondant Ethan and a flighty Jane, Anna begins suspecting the mother and son are trapped in an abusive household. When she believes she sees Jane get stabbed to death by husband Alistair through her zoom lens, his furious denials and attempts to discredit Anna to Detective Little (Brian Tyree Henry) begin. Anna's basement tenant, singer-songwriter David (Wyatt Russell), provides little help in corroborating her story while possibly hiding some secrets of his own. With her mental state deteriorating and everyone gaslighting her into doubting what she saw, Anna works overtime to put together clues that prove this horrific crime was really committed and not merely a construct of her fragile psyche.

While the film is all over the map in terms of plot, the amount of time it spent on the shelf probably helped it in some ways, at least as far as its themes of isolation seeming timelier than they otherwise would. And for about half the film, the script does seem very seriously interested in taking us into the fractured headspace of this woman who obviously experienced a severe trauma we only later discover the details of. 

Losing herself in classic movies and TV, Anna's exiled herself inside this apartment with her cat, and the remainder of her entertainment is provided by spying on this wealthy, dysfunctional family across the street. Other than  sporadic phone conversations with her estranged husband and the weekly psychiatric counseling, she's in her own world, reality hanging by a thread after an adjustment to her meds. 

Adams is really strong in these opening scenes and her interactions with Hechinger, as this desperately off, needy teen, are unnerving and affecting. But it's the entrance of an entertainingly loopy Julianne Moore as "Jane Russell" that sends everything into a tailspin, but not an altogether welcome one, through no fault of Moore's performance, which is probably better than the story deserves. 

After Anna witnesses Jane's murder the entire scenario goes down this rabbit hole where everyone starts questioning her sanity and the mystery unfolds as to whether everything's playing out in her head. The more information that's revealed the sillier it gets, more closely resembling one of those 90's direct-to-video thrillers than the Hitchcockian whodunnit it initially purported itself as being. 

Most of the film's charms are found in these supporting turns, with the possible exceptions of Gary Oldman's relegation to stock villainy and Jennifer Jason Leigh being given the least to do of anyone as the supposed "real" Jane Russell, an eleventh hour wrench thrown into the plot. While the characters are comparable to pieces on a game board, both Hechinger and Wyatt Russell make the most of what they're given, with the latter proving more than capable of handling darker material you'll wish was better after seeing his performance. And despite fairly limited screen time, Moore makes the biggest impact in her extended scenes opposite Adams, teasing the potential for a gripping mystery that just never quite gets off the ground.

This is one of those projects where the harder the script works, the returns only seem to keep diminishing. It's not a chore to sit through and Adams has a great grasp on her character, but whatever subtly the story had at its start literally goes, if you'll forgive the pun, out the window with a fascinating mess of a finale. Featuring a gotcha revelation that's partially confusing and not as surprising as you'd think, it really does channel one of those cheap slasher endings in all the wrong ways. 

Since Adams basically headlines every other film released these days, this feels like a bigger departure for Wright, who's a long way off from Atonement and Hanna, dipping his feet into the waters of a bargain basement thriller he tries his best to elevate. We'll never know the exact circumstances surrounding how The Woman in the Window turned out like it did, making it almost uncomfortable to assign blame. But even those able to have fun with this would have a tough time claiming it reaches its full potential, whatever that was intended to be.       

Vice

Director: Adam McKay
Starring: Christian Bale, Amy Adams, Steve Carell, Sam Rockwell, Tyler Perry, Alison Pill, Lily Rabe, Jesse Plemons, Justin Kirk, Shea Whigham
Running Time: 132 min.
Rating: R

★★★ (out of ★★★★)

Whenever a biopic is released on a controversial public figure from either past or present, our favorite conversation is restarted about how fair and accurate the treatment of said subject will be. Strangely enough, the more polarizing they are, the higher standard the filmmakers seem to be held to. Will it be a hatchet job or an overly sympathetic portrayal that humanizes their irredeemable actions? Maybe a balanced mix of both? Depending upon who you ask, Steve Jobs was either vilified as a soulless monster in Danny Boyle's Jobs or was let off the hook too easily. Mark Zuckerberg was a meglomaniacal antisocial parasite in The Social Network, or if you prefer, simply a shy, ambitious genius who developed a web site to impress a girl. Oliver Stone's W., signaled what many believed was the neutering of a once great filmmaker who failed to go for the jugular in depicting a ripe for skewering Bush 43 as he exited office. Now, writer/director Adam McKay makes up for that with Vice, a movie unlikely to spark any of those conversations since he leaves so little room for debate about how Bush's V.P., Dick Cheney, should be viewed.

On an evilness scale, Vice's rendering of Cheney lands somewhere between Hitler and Darth Vader, with a little Grinch thrown in for good measure. Without holding back, McKay unloads on his target with a contempt only momentarily tempered by his excursions into satiric silliness that end up making Cheney look that much worse by mocking him. And like his simarly topical The Big Short, it's done in trademark McKay style, jumping back and forth through time, breaking the third wall, and telling as much as it's showing. From a cinematic standpoint, it's a total mess, with a few endings too many and a tendency to treat its audience like simpletons.

For those who already despise Cheney, this preaches to the choir, even if those on the fence will gladly jump on the bandwagon once they get the film's take on what he's done. His supporters will be fuming, citing it as the latest example of the Hollywood liberal elite run amok. And they're not necessarily wrong, since this is about as one-sided an attack as it gets. But boy is it entertaining, taking risks few political dramas or comedies have attempted, much less gotten away with. It doesn't all connect, but when it does, it's pretty vicious. 

Pinning down exactly when the story of Dick Cheney (Christian Bale) begins and ends is no easy task, but it speaks volumes that one of the the first glimpses we get of the future Vice President is as a young man drunkenly stumbling out of his car after being pulled over by Wyoming police in 1963. The journey that takes him from that moment to the brief opening scene of him responding to the 9/11 attacks can be traced back to his relationship with power-hungry wife, Lynn (Amy Adams), the mastermind behind his eventual ascent.

It's Lynn's ultimatum toYale dropout Dick to shape up or get out that leads him to D.C.,working as an intern for outspoken economic advisor Donald Rumsfeld (Steve Carrell) in the Nixon administration. After Watergate and Nixon's resignation, Cheney rises to the position of Chief of Staff under President Ford, then as Secretary of Defense under Bush 41. Heart problems and a stint as Halliburton C.E.O. come after, and while the movie makes it very clear that his story could have easily ended there, it doesn't. His most infamous chapter follows with a stint as Vice President to George W. Bush (Sam Rockwell), leading to Cheney's emergence as a manipulative Washington puppet master. With his tentacles extending to even the most controversial foreign policy decisions and in worsening health, he covertly spearheads an administration many believe left a trail of death and destruction in its wake.   

While it's all a bit too much to take in with McKay rarely bothering to even feign any sense of objectivity in delivering what often plays as Oliver Stone and Michael Moore's cinematic love child, it's at least tied together by an undeniably fascinating and controversial idea. The Unitary Executive Theory is the principle by which Cheney seems to live and breathe, and is firmly rooted in the belief that the President is invested with the power to control the entire executive branch. If some believe should be a limit or check on the extent of it, Cheney's not one of them, and in carrying out the duties of the Vice Presidency, he demonstrates what can happen when you extend that constitutional theory as far as possible, then wield it like a club. After stretches of cloaking every event of the script in this power-hungry outlook, it becomes clear that McKay wants you to believe Cheney's tenure as Vice, his marriage, ambitions, relationship with his daughters, and ultimately, his life, are all driven by this conceit.

McKay unequivocally succeeds at depicting this worldview, while also making excellent use of an unknown narrator named Kurt (Jesse Plemons), who we're told has some kind of relationship to Cheney that's cleverly kept under wraps until the film's final minutes, paying off in a major way. Some may find that to be the story's real hook, if not for Bale's rightfully heralded performance, which manages to do something the film itself only rarely manages to: humanize him. And simultaneously demonize him. With a massive weight gain and prosthetics, he not only looks the part (complete with a scary facial resemblance), but really understands it, even in places where the screenplay seems to be mocking every facet of his ideology.

Bale conveys this urgency in the man to plow forward because somewhere along the way, be it from Rumsfeld or his wife, it was drilled into him that history is written by the winners. This path replaces alcohol as his addiction, but like most, he's only as good or bad as who's surrounding him. While it's become sort of a running joke to guess which supporting role Amy Adams will be annually nominated for and lose, her work as Lynn Cheney ranks amongst the strongest in that regard, kind of an expanded version of the ice cold character she played opposite Philip Seymour Hoffman in The Master, albeit even more outrightly devious and controlling. In other words, she's living proof that behind every successful man is a woman. And the (fantasy?) scene where they recite Shakespeare to each other is really a keeper.

Despite earning a nomination himself for this, Sam Rockwell provides what essentially amounts to amounts to an SNL characterization of George W. Bush. Whether or not that's McKay's intention (and it's easy to believe so), it might be the only element in the film that plays as an all-out comedic farce. Depicting Bush 43 a moronic bumbling drunk who can't spell his own name or tie his shoes is undeniably low-hanging fruit, but it also seems very dated, more in line with something we'd see on some sketch show a decade prior. Is that the point? Either way, it begs the question of what time and distance has done to our percetion of his Presidency. Often, it's tough to tell if the movie's in on its own jokes or not, as Rockwell's portrayal is basically everything Josh Brolin resisted doing in W. 

Less broadly comedic is Carell's performance as Donald Rumsfeld, who ends up as kind of a tragic figure of sorts after his maniacal mentoring of Cheney. A little goofy, but smart and impulsive, Carell strikes just the right chord, making you wish he had an even more screen time. Tyler Perry shows up as Colin Powell, an uncredited Naomi Watts cameos as a FOX News-like anchor, along with nearly half a dozen "blink and you'll miss it" appearances from various actors as figures like Gerald Ford, Condoleezza Rice, Henry Kissinger and Roger Ailes.

If there were any lingering doubts as to how you're supposed to feel about Dick Cheney, McKay very proudly posts his reminders at every turn that you better hate him! And if you don't, he'll make sure you will by the time Vice ends. Unfortunately, that end point isn't exactly clear since a moment arrives late in the third act that seems to signal a perfectly logical conclusion, yet he keeps going, missing the opportunity to close on a single, powerful image that perfectly encapsulates his subject's life.

Even after an ailing Cheney is fighting to take his last breath due to heart problems and waiting on an eleventh hour miracle, the movie manages to get more shots in. Is this supposed to be the most one-sided of poltical takedowns? Or is it a spoof of one-sided political takdowns? We may never know, but with Cheney's legacy sealed, he gets a film as messy, muddled and confounding as he is, succeeding most at turning him into a bigger showman than he could have ever hoped to be.

Arrival

Director: Denis Villeneuve
Starring: Amy Adams, Jeremy Renner, Forest Whitaker, Michael Stuhlbarg, Tzi Ma, Mark O' Brien
Running Time: 116 min.
Rating: PG-13

★★★ ½ (out of ★★★★)

While watching Arrival, it was hard not to be reminded of that classic Twilight Zone episode, "To Serve Man," in which aliens arrive on Earth and there's some miscommunication as to what meaning is intended by their use of the word "serve." Of course, we were too trusting and paid for it with a final twist revealing the episode title to actually be the name of a cookbook. What happens in Arrival could be described as practically the inverse of this, as well as a reflection of just how much has  changed since that episode aired in 1962. While the use of a skilled linguist like the protagonist at this film's center could have easily prevented that mishap, there's no protection against the cynicism, xenophobia and paranoia that surely would take over once the aliens arrive. If such an event were to occur and they were here to do us harm, there's a decent enough chance we'd destroy each other before having a chance at destroying them. There's no mistaking that everyone's default setting would now be one of fear and resistance.

Those are some of the many elements director Denis Villeneuve and screenwriter Eric Heisserer get right with their cerebral adaptation of Ted Chiang's 1998 novella "Story of Your Life." It spends so much of its running time knee-deep in science and laying out a fairly plausible scenario that it's almost a shock that its final third is devoted to to huge metaphysical and spiritual questioning. But it shouldn't be, since recent sci-fi seems to have fallen in love with the emotional side of the equation, often to these films' detriments. The cynic in me suspects it's a monetarily driven, heart-tugging device used to get families into the theater. In Gravity, it was the memory of a deceased daughter. In Interstellar, it was the bond between father and daughter that broke the boundaries of time and space.

In Arrival, it's again the memory of a deceased daughter that figures heavily into the narrative, but doesn't quite hurt the film to the point of those other two. It's at least organically factored into the story in a way that it inspires thought, even if, like those aforementioned titles, it lays it on a little thick at the end. But it's really at its best when asking the big question: What are their intentions? In other words, to serve man or to serve man? Or maybe it's something else. Tourists just stopping by for a visit? Villeneuve deliberately goes about answering this in a cold, clinical style before opening the floodgates (and for some the tear ducts) in the final third to ask an even bigger, but not entirely unrelated questions about time, determinism and free will. But of the sci-fi films to attempt it, this proves most successful in at least having the brains and patience to satisfyingly follow through on those ideas.

Dr. Louise Banks (Amy Adams) is a linguist teaching at a local university who's frequently distracted by memories of her deceased adolescent daughter, who at some point succumbed to cancer. One of her classes comes to an abrupt end when news reports confirm that twelve extraterrestrial spacecraft have appeared to land in various locations across Earth. She's paid a visit by U.S. Army Colonel Weber (Forest Whitaker), who's recruiting her and physicist Ian Donnelly (Jeremy Renner) to head a team in deciphering the language of these multi-limbed visitors, referred to as "heptapods."  Despite Louise's initial hesitation, she and Ian are shuttled off to a military camp near one of the spacecrafts in Montana where they'll board and attempt to make sense of a very unfamiliar language, primarily consisting of complicated circular symbols.

For all the headway Louise and Ian make in communicating with these interlopers, the beaurucratic red tape and political unrest between nations make their jobs nearly impossible. Discovering an explanation of the aliens' motives and purpose on Earth proves challenging, unless all the countries' governments can selflessly get on the same page. Louise must also still wrestle with those very fresh, painfully vivid memories of her own daughter, whose life and death seems intrinsically tied to what's happening right now.

It wouldn't be inaccurate to say the film has a set-up that's both narratively and technically masterful, not to mention eerily restrained and realistic. From the moment these mysterious crafts make landfall, there's genuine suspense generated as to its contents, what the aliens look will look like and why  they're here. The story's entire framework is heady, relying heavily on visuals and sound effects once the action shifts into the investigation of the ship itself and possible means of communication. Those expecting another Independence Day will either be disappointed or elated that this shares absolutely nothing in common with an action-oriented project like that, more clearly taking its inspiration from more spiritually-minded SF like Close Encounters of the Third Kind and 2001: A Space Odyssey. And unless you count the familial themes of the former and inherent chilliness of the latter, it's still unfair to claim it closely resembles either of those.

There's real doubt as to how the emotionally fragile Louise will hold up under the physical and psychological pressures of the situation, and at least initially, these concerns are well founded. Heisserer's script makes no bones about the fact that she's a complete mess due to personal tragedy, which seems to be a common, if increasingly tired, affliction affecting female protagonists in sci-fi films. This at least bothers to put somewhat of a new spin on it in the third act, and Adams, the busiest and possibly most over-exposed actress working today gives one of her better internalized performances as Louise in a role that requires quite a bit from her since this isn't an actor's film by any stretch. In fact, the role's kind of subtle, flatlined quality could help explain how the Academy somehow excluded her in the glut of awards season.

Once communication is established to even a minimal extent, the film really soars, offering up fascinating revelations about not only how we'd decipher language in an unusual situation like this, but how we communicate with each other. And Villeneuve believably does all of this step-by-step. Taking a position of empathy and patience with these visitors, Louise fights an uphill battle with Whitaker's hard nosed Col. Weber who wants answer to their motives yesterday, ignoring the fact that charging ahead without the proper preparation and research could have potentially disastrous consequences. There are even points when you wonder why he hired her since he'll clearly do whatever he wishes regardless. Renner's Ian mostly provides a sounding board for Louise's ideas and moral support, until the exact nature of his involvement evolves considerably toward the final act.

This is French-Canadian filmmaker Villeneuve's biggest project yet, having previously directed the well-received Prisoners, Enemy and Sicario. It's also unquestionably his most ambitious, working on a grander scale than we're used to seeing him receive and Jóhann Jóhannsson's buzzing, eerily Kubrickian musical score combined with Bradford Young's creepy, atmospheric cinematography and the Oscar-winning sound design help combine to create an experience that likely puts it a notch above most of his previous efforts, at least technically.

Reactions to the emotional territory it veers into will vary, but without giving too much away, the notion of time becomes a key component, or more specifically our perception of it. By daring to ask the question of whether it's worth forging forward with a happy, fulfilling life as planned knowing certain tragedy awaits, the screenplay cleverly subverts our initial expectations, forcing us to place ourselves in the protagonist's shoes. Of course, in doing so, it can't help but get a little mushy, veering away from the scientific angle that initially made the scenario so compelling. Still, it's impossible to deny that Arrival provokes serious thought and rises above most other entries in the genre by primarily relying on emotion and ideas rather than computer-generated theatrics.
 

Man of Steel

Director: Zack Snyder
Starring: Henry Cavill, Amy Adams, Michael Shannon, Diane Lane, Kevin Costner, Laurence Fishburne, Antje Traue, Ayelet Zurer, Christopher Meloni, Russell Crowe
Running Time: 143 min.
Rating: PG-13

★★ (out of ★★★★)

Well, better late than never. The fact that I waited nearly a year before finally seeing Zack Snyder's Man of Steel should give you a pretty good idea how high on my priority list it was. Not because I dreaded it in the slightest or was at all protective of the character, which is easily the most challenging of all superheroes to adapt to the screen. But because I'm just so burnt out from superhero movies and franchises to the point that it's almost impossible to distinguish them from each other. You can blame Marvel for that.  So now it's good to know every day I avoided seeing this wasn't time spent in vain because in attempting to "reimagine" Superman and make him relevant to contemporary audiences, Snyder's stripped away the character's essence, succeeding only in making an overblown Marvel movie out of a DC property.

About 10 minutes into the film I completely checked out, realizing we've seen this all before when it was titled Thor, Captain America, Iron Man and The Avengers. But this is actually much worse than all those, and perhaps even worse (or at least barely even with) Bryan Singer's much-maligned Superman Returns, which made the supposedly crucial error of being too slavishly devoted to Richard Donner's original vision. Snyder is slavishly devoted to blowing things up, as his vision features some of the most mind-numbing, soul-crushing CGI I've ever seen in a film and a third act that literally had me tapping out and reaching for the Advil.

Remember when the teaser trailer came out and everyone actually compared it to The Tree of Life, thinking we'd be in for a deeper, more contemplative treatment? With few exceptions, this project is actually more of a disaster than it's been credited for, with the only hope being that this darker, more other worldly incarnation of the character is eventually seen for the embarassing misstep it is. But now that Snyder has temporarily been entrusted with Batman as well, that seems unlikely. If this Superman really is a reflection of our times, that's not a compliment.

This almost two and a half hour movie can essentially be broken down into four sections:

1. Thor Redux
2. "The Deadliest Catch"
3. "Field of Dreams"
4. Avengers Redux

Of these, the first section is by far the weakest and most pointless, not to mention the most troublesome aspect of the mythology to depict on screen. We spend nearly 30 minutes on the depleting Krypton learning how scientist Jor-El (Russell Crowe) and his wife Lara (Ayelet Zurer) come under attack from evil commander General Zod (Michael Shannon) and are forced to launch their newborn son Kal-El to Earth, his cells infused with the genetic code of the Kryptonian race. It's a sequence that could have easily been depicted in two minutes, but Snyder drags it out, calling attention to some spectacularly bad visual effects in the process. The opening resembles Thor's in terms of how much boring mythology is unloaded as a mere excuse to pummel our senses. That said, when Kal and the movie land on Earth, I really appreciated what it was trying to do and for a while it  actually looked like Snyder could pull this off.

Our first glimpses of an adult Superman (Henry Cavill) are interspersed with flashbacks to his childhood in Smallville, Kansas, where he's raised as Clark, the adopted son of Jonathan (Kevin Costner) and Martha (Diane Lane) Kent. These scenes of the young Clark being picked on at school and the advice he receives from his father about the importance of accepting, yet also concealing his identity, comprise the strongest moments in the film. By far. Why everything didn't just begin here is a mystery, but perhaps the filmmakers worried this ground was already covered in the Smallville TV series and fanboys would throw a hissy fit if the god awful Krypton scenes weren't included.

The idea of an adult Clark Kent as a bearded, brooding fisherman is a novel one that earns points for originality. Snyder is nothing if not a visualist and it clearly comes across in these scenes and especially the ones in Smallville, which are beautifully filmed. It's his commitment to actual storytelling that's a weak spot. Hans Zimmer's elegiac score is a plus, making it unlikely anyone will miss John Williams, whose incredible orchestrations just wouldn't fit here.  I refer to the Kansas section as "Field of Dreams" not out of sarcasm, but as a compliment to Costner, who delivers the film's finest performance with limited screen time. It's also perfect casting, not only playing up the actor's famously down home persona, but giving us a fresh but comfortable entry point into what could have been tired territory. Instead, watching this father trying to protect his unusually gifted son provides the only humanity in the story, as it all flies off the rails from there.

As Superman, Cavill is okay. With all the speculation about who would play the "Man of Steel," who would have thought that the choice ultimately wouldn't matter? Most of the time he takes a back seat to the distractingly bad effects and confusing set pieces. The British actor definitely offers a more brooding take on Clark Kent that won't soon be confused with anything done by Christopher Reeve or Brandon Routh. In fact, it's so far removed it won't be confused with anything related to Superman or Clark Kent at all, as even David Goyer's script goes out of its way to avoid mentioning him by name (see title). Some may appreciate these attempts to supposedly go "darker" or more "realistic" with the character but it's hard to even apply those adjectives when so many of the action sequences undermine it. But at least this is the best the costume they've had and if Cavill really was hired because he didn't look ridiculous in it, that's as good a reason as any to pick him for what's always been an impossibly thankless role.

The Lois Lane situation is bizarre in the sense that she's almost TOO involved, as if the filmmakers felt a need to justify the big name (and admittedly lazy) casting of Amy Adams by having the character wear as many hats in the story as possible. She's still the Daily Planet reporter. but there are almost as many points where you'd confuse her for a geologist, a military commander or maybe even a superhero herself in the last act. While Adams going out there and simply delivering lines still surpasses the miscast Kate Bosworth in Returns, it's worth noting that's all she does. Giving Lois a more prominent role and having her played by an older, more experienced actress than the male lead was an excellent idea on paper, but Adams seems completely bored with it, as if she can't get to the bank soon enough to cash her royalty check. And forget about any chemistry between the two. There's none.

Poor Russell Crowe is given what's easily the silliest expository dialogue of the entire cast as Jor-El. That he can deliver it with a straight face even long after his character's initial demise is more deserving of an honorary medal for screen survival than an acting award. He does great under terrible circumstances, working with material that's the polar opposite of Costner's. As Zod, Michael Shannon didn't need to be Terrence Stamp. He just needed to be Michael Shannon. But what's strange is how this movie doesn't even allow him to do that. Ironically, when playing a superhero villain, our creepiest, scariest actor is somehow not very creepy at all. Snyder just has him yell and and yell some more in a terrible CGI suit.

German actress Anteje Traue as his Krytonian sidekick Faora is a different story, as she basically steals every scene she's in, giving a seductively badass performance that recalls the best of Sarah Douglas as Ursa in Superman II. In his few scenes, I liked what Laurence Fishburne did with Daily Planet editor Perry White, but the part is so miniscule it barely warrants a mention. Metropolis itself is similarly shafted as a setting, functioning only as a CGI battleground for the tortuously long final act during which it's often difficult to make out what's happening. Those crying heresy at Superman (SPOILER AHEAD) killing Zod should probably consider the context in which it happened, not to mention the fact that this movie would still be continuing right now if he didn't. So for that, I'm eternally grateful.

Superman just isn't the type of superhero that lends itself to various interpretations or reimaginings. It can't be a campy 60's TV series or an 80's Gothic styled blockbuster or the first part of a dark, reality grounded Christopher Nolan trilogy. The character just doesn't have that flexibility, and despite the marketing trying to convince us we were getting the latter, they were really just trying to deliver a Marvel entry. Nolan may have a producing and story credit, but does anyone believes his involvement extended beyond giving a couple of notes and getting his name on the picture as a show of goodwill to him and a sign of reassurance to audiences? You can tell this was made by a committee looking to cash in on the Marvel craze, while poorly sprinkling traces of Nolan's tone to silence doubters.

That the writer is Batman trilogy scribe David Goyer is a surprise, but most of the problems lay in the execution more than the conception. It's obvious all the big creative decisions resulted from Warner Bros. guiding Snyder to create a DC "universe" or franchise for future tie-in installments. He did exactly as asked, with the irony being that Man of Steel ends at the exact point it really should have started, negating this film, yet putting them in a decent position for the follow-up. Unfortunately, all that was originally special about the Superman character was sacrificed in the process, resurrected in a way we never thought possible: As just another superhero.             
                 

American Hustle

Director: David O. Russell
Starring: Christian Bale, Bradley Cooper, Amy Adams, Jeremy Renner, Jennifer Lawrence, Louis C.K., Jack Huston, Michael Pena, Shea Whigham 
Running Time: 138 min.
Rating: R

★★★ (out of ★★★★)

My immediate reaction after the final credits rolled on American Hustle was that it was a "fun time." But I can't help but think whether that response would been different had I not known the film received ten Oscar nominations, including all four acting categories and Best Picture. Almost needless to say, expectations were pretty high for what ends up being the weakest film in David O. Russell's comeback trilogy, which includes The Fighter and Silver Linings Playbook. While much more of a mixed bag than either, what's most surprising is how light and fluffy it is. It's basically an all-out comedic farce that's more entertaining than expected, but also far less substantial. It's loosely based on a real FBI Abscam sting operation in the 1970's but it isn't a biographical drama of any sort and certainly won't be mistaken for Argo anytime soon. The script almost seems to be making a complete mockery of the story which hardly matters since the real draw here is the acting, with costuming and (sometimes overbearing) soundtrack choices trailing not too far behind. With a less talented director and cast it's easy to imagine this being a disaster. Actually, it's still kind of a disaster. Just a really wild and fun one.

It's 1978 when con artist Irving Rosenfeld (Christian Bale) meets Sydney Prosser (Amy Adams) at a party in New Jersey and the two embark on a personal and professional relationship in which Sydney (posing as English aristocrat "Lady Edith Greensly") start running loan scam. When their latest mark turns out to be undercover FBI agent Richie DiMaso (Bradley Cooper), they're recruited by him to help with four stings in exchange for their release. But Sydney has other plans, getting romantically close to Richie to manipulate him as a jealous Irving stands on the sidelines. How much of this plan and her feelings morph into reality is a question that hovers in the air up until the end. Richie's biggest sting involves entrapping Camden Mayor Carmine Polito (Jeremy Renner), who's attempting to raise funds to revitalize gambling in Atlantic City. This sets in motion a convoluted plot involving a fake Arab sheikh, a secret wire transfer and the mob. But Irving's most dangerous problem is his stay-at- home wife Rosalyn (Jennifer Lawrence), a certifiable loose cannon who's no dummy. She knows something's up, and that knowledge could tear this operation and their family apart.

Remember that scene in The Wolf of Wall Street when Jordan Belfort turns to the camera and tells us he did a lot of illegal stuff but won't waste time boring us with the details? That's American Hustle in a nutshell. If there were a pop quiz on all the double crosses, fake-outs or even just the basic mechanics of the plot, it's an exam many wouldn't pass. And yet Russell manages to make it completely beside the point, instead focusing on the interplay between these wild characters, each seemingly crazier than the next. Clearly, the major plotline has less to do with Abscam than the love triangle involving Irving, Sydney and Richie, even if there are points where we doubt it can be considered a love triangle since the characters are all playing each other. The whole movie functions as one giant scam with everyone wearing masks at various points.

The two best performances come belong to the women, with Adams showing a side of herself as an actress we've never quite seen before, turning in her most intense work since The Fighter. Tough, but emotionally damaged goods, Sydney knows she's battling for more than to just stay out of jail by pulling off this scam. She wants prominence in Irving's life, ahead of his wife and son and is willing to use the hapless Agent DiMaso to do it. If some people are smarter than they look, Richie DiMaso is definitely not one of those people, falling for Sydney's hustle (and cleavage baring attire) hook, line, and sinker. He's also somehow target a legitimately honest politician and all-around great guy for his sting. In fact, Renner makes Carmine so selfless and likable in what should be the sleaziest of roles, that it's  impossible for the audience not to resent DiMaso for deceiving him. But Cooper gives him this helplessly pathetic quality of a man struggling to move up the bureau ladder and win a woman he thinks he's in love with, but really doesn't know at all. His hapless superior (played hilariously by Louis C.K.) is literally the only character who is worse off or commands less respect.

Holding the whole film (and his hairpiece) together is Bale, the real brains behind the operation, which isn't saying much. With a hideous wardrobe and a huge gut, few would be able to recognize the actor, and when they do, even fewer would believe he was capable of being this funny. So misguided and self-absorbed, Irving destroys the one relationship he has that means anything to him: His friendship with Carmine. It's possibly the only scam he's ever felt guilty about.  He spends most of the movie in a complete panic, as would anyone married to Jennifer Lawrence's Roselyn, the only character not at all like the rest.

On paper, Lawrence again seems completely miscast in a role meant for an older actress, only to respond by stealing the movie with a performance that starts as fully comedic before moving into some darker territory by the last act. In a picture where it's tough to take anything or anyone seriously, she uses limited screen time to turn what could easily have been a one joke character into a real force deserving of audience sympathy. That's a tight rope to walk and while all the hype and praise surrounding Lawrence has been exhausting, she proves again with her work that it's deserved. Her intense sing-a-long to Wings' "Live and Let Die" is a particular standout. Unfortunately, an uncredited Robert DeNiro turns in a comedic cameo as--you guessed it--a mobster. Ugh.  He also appears at just the point where the film starts getting a little overstuffed, making his shoehorned arrival feel especially unnecessary.

While it's clear Russell has a love for the period and certain details are deadly accurate, there's rarely any doubt he enjoys laughing at it also. As do we. If he was going for a Scorsese vibe, what transpires on screen often comes across as a comedic spoof of that. Call it "Scorsese Lite." Was that intentional? Does it even matter? All I know is that the whole thing is a lot funnier than most would have you believe. About halfway through you just forget everything and revel in the zany antics of these characters and enjoyable performances. If the developments were treated more seriously it might have been a better movie, but I'm not sure it would have been nearly as entertaining or interesting. This is about watching talented actors at the top of their game successfully disappearing into their crazy roles. Even the characters seem to forget about their own story on occasion. American Hustle might be all over the place, but it's most successful when not taking itself too seriously and functioning as a bizarre character study. Luckily, that's most of the time.    
     

Her

Director: Spike Jonze
Starring: Joaquin Phoenix, Amy Adams, Rooney Mara, Olivia Wilde, Scarlett Johansson, Chris Pratt, Matt Letscher, Portia Doubleday, Brian Cox
Running Time: 125 min.
Rating: R

★★★ (out of ★★★★)

I'll have to tread lightly in properly explaining my minor disappointment in Spike Jonze's Her. The very word "disappointment" is a film critic's worst enemy because it implies expectations. That in itself isn't fair, but it's true. When you have a director that's as original and groundbreaking as Jonze you can't help but anticipate a grand slam each time out. It's very good, but leaves this nagging feeling it wasn't all it could have been, despite it being difficult to describe exactly how. To be honest, it's kind of surprising it's struck the chord it has amongst critics and moviegoers, even earning enough admiration to sneak in as a Best Picture nominee. Something this eccentric usually ends up splitting everyone down the middle. But it's easiest to name what it does exceptionally well, and topping the list is the depiction of a near-future that's completely believable in terms of technology and its effect on our lives.

Theodore Twombly (Joaquin Phoenix), is a shy introvert who works for a company that writes personal love letters, but he's lately been distracted and depressed over his upcoming divorce with childhood sweetheart, Catherine (Rooney Mara). His new rebound girlfriend is an Operating system, or OS, named "Samantha" (voiced by a never seen Scarlett Johansson), who's designed to behave and evolve as an actual human being would. Unready for the commitment that comes with an actual human relationship so soon after the collapse of his marriage, he unrealistically holds out up for a reconciliation with Catherine, even if Samantha seems to be the perfect substitute. For him, it represents the chance to open up about his fears and dreams without having to deal with the complications that might accompany a conventional relationship (or so he initially thinks). For Sam, it's a chance to learn and grow, transcending her role as an OS to more closely resemble an actual person with real, rather than programmed, feelings. Of course, both want something out of this neither can possibly get from the other and with that comes the realization that even an artificially programmed relationship can come with pitfalls. And for the emotional fragile Theodore, just as much pain.

That this still feels like a one man show with so loaded a cast is a credit to what Phoenix does with a role that on paper seems thankless. He steers this premise as far as he can and then some because, if we're being completely honest, this is still about a man who falls in love with his computer. And yet not. It's up to the actors and script to somehow make that concept work, so from that perspective it's hard to call the effort anything other than a success. As for Johansson, it's ironic she isn't physically present to witness what ends up being her most captivating performance in a while. When compiling a list of her greatest attributes, her unmistakably deep and raspy voice probably goes unnoticed by comparison, making it a stroke of casting genius from Jonze to recognize that and nab her. It's also maybe a stroke of luck considering the part was originally intended for Samantha Morton, who was dropped at the last minute. More than that, there's this rare opportunity for Johansson's looks to be taken completely out of the equation. The conversations and flirtation between the two are initially compelling, and when the time comes for their relationship to get "physical," what occurs is downright bizarre.

We know where all this is headed and it's hardly a spoiler to say that Theodore is going to get dumped to learn lessons about life and himself. And that's when it started overstaying its welcome a bit with me in the third act. There are only so many arguments, misunderstandings, make-ups and examples of petty jealousy you can take, especially when one half of the couple is a disembodied voice. And because the relationship is is so believable it almost veers away from speculative sci-fi and social commentary, evolving instead (along with Samantha) into conventional relationship drama territory. When that happened, I started losing interest and at just over two deliberately paced hours, it's arguable Jonze should have spent more time in the editing room. The closing half hour in particular seems to almost spin motionlessly, in search of an ending. Eventually it finds one, even if I'm still not sure it's the one it deserved. 

It's worth noting how everyone around Theodore reacts to his new girlfriend since it teeters on the edge of being completely absurd, while somehow remaining relatively realistic. For ex-wife Catherine, it's the former, and yet another excuse for him to avoid a real adult relationship with responsibility and actual consequences. We're shown poignant glimpses of their marriage and it's relatively easy to judge what went wrong based on flashbacks and a pained conversation  between the two late in the film. His friend Aimee (Amy Adams, basically covering Cameron Diaz's role in Being John Malkovich, complete with the frizzy hair), is supportive, as is his happy-go-lucky co-worker Paul (Chris Pratt). Seeing everyone's differing reactions to Samantha within the context of this society was strangely more interesting to me than anything involving Theodore's relationship with her. But the most discussion-worthy scene involves his blind date with a clingy friend of Aimee's (memorably played by Olivia Wilde), that doesn't at all go in the direction you're expecting, and the result is all the more intriguing because of it.

Her is melancholy in both tone and atmosphere, to the point that at times I found it almost unbearably depressing and claustrophobic, with very few moments of uplift. Even the supposedly happy moments have this tinge of sadness to them. Did it hit too close to home? Am I just sick of watching people on their phones? Or maybe it's impossible to feel any true excitement watching a man fall in love with his operating system. You bring a bit of yourself to every movie you see but that rings especially true here, as anyone who see it is likely to only do so through the filter of their own experiences and relationships. But it sure is something to look at. The world building by Jonze, the costume and production team, and cinematographer Hoyte van Hoytema is incredible, making it impossible to go through a scene without appreciating all the attention to visual detail. As expected, Arcade Fire's score is top notch. Going just far enough, it resembles a future we'd recognize, but features enough elements that it could easily be mistaken for the present or any other point in time. The aesthetic decisions not only make sense, but don't date the movie, insuring it could be one of the rare future cinematic societies we don't giggle at a few years down the line.  

The situation that unfolds here could literally happen next week, if not right now. Everyone's already figuratively in love with their phones and electronic devices so the idea of a lonely man literally falling in love with one isn't much of a stretch at all. Jonze should be praised for not making that obvious point and turning the premise into a finger wagging condemnation of our obsession with modern technology, which would have been too easy, not to mention pointless. Instead, you could argue the exact opposite argument is made, in that technology can open our hearts and minds, just as long as it isn't used a surrogate for curing the personal problems we heap on ourselves. 

Trouble with the Curve

Director: Robert Lorenz
Starring: Clint Eastwood, Amy Adams, Justin Timberlake, Matthew Lillard, John Goodman, Robert Patrick, Scott Eastwood
Running Time: 111 min.
Rating: PG-13

★★ ½ (out of ★★★★)

When aging baseball scout Gus Lobel says a player looks good "on paper" you better believe he knows what he's talking about. No one has more paperwork since he refuses to rely on computers or even statistics to his job. But considering he's played by Clint Eastwood, you probably could have guessed that already. He's old school, as is the film's approach to sports recruiting. Trouble with the Curve could easily be his anti-Moneyball, if not for the fact that for the first time since 1993's In The Line of Fire, he's acting in a film he didn't actually direct. Taking over the reigns with mixed results is his longtime assistant director and producer Robert Lorenz, who puts his mentor front and center. And yet despite appearing in every scene, it still doesn't really feel like Eastwood's film. This is light, popcorn entertainment with the actor's performance playing as kind of a Grumpy Old Men version of his bitter, ornery Gran Torino character, minus the racial and ethnic slurs. It does some things well, and a few more wrong, but it's not exactly the disaster many have made it out to be, suffering more for its theatrical release coinciding with the actor's infamous Republican convention speech last November. Of course, that was blown way out of proportion by the media, undeserving of being remembered as anything other than a tiny blip on his storied career. He's earned that much, even if this effort still doesn't quite add up to much more than the sum of its parts. But if interviews implying that this could be his final acting appearance hold true, we can at least be grateful it's no Welcome To Mooseport.

With his contract up in three months, legendary Atlanta Braves' scout Gus refuses to see the handwriting on the wall. Now in his twilight years and with rapidly deteriorating eyesight, management may not extend his contract despite his best friend and boss Pete (John Goodman) doing everything he can to convince them otherwise. But Gus has a major, "can't miss" prospect to check out in North Carolina, and much to his displeasure, Pete convinces his workaholic lawyer daughter Mickey (Amy Adams) to join him on the trip, which evolves into an extended therapy session for both. With Mickey distracted by a potential promotion to partner at work and still harboring resentment toward her dad for abandoning her as a child and Gus in full denial about his declining health, their few moments of bonding come from their shared love of baseball. While there, they run into the charismatic Johnny Flanagan (Justin Timberlake) a former player Gus recruited who's now a scout for the Red Sox angling for a job in the broadcast booth. While scouting the kid he takes a romantic interest in Mickey but Gus has bigger problems to worry about. If he screws this up, he's done for good.

It's difficult to watch this without memories of 2011's vastly superior Moneyball lingering in the background. What's compelling about the comparison is that while both films focus heavily on major league baseball scouting, they take completely opposite approaches. Eastwood's Gus may as well be one of the old, out-of-touch veterans who were mocked by Brad Pitt's Billy Beane in so many of that picture's most effective scenes. There was no point in management actually "scouting" anyone anymore, as the key to the A's success came from the sabermetric system of running player stats through a computer. Here, computers are viewed as creating a culture of laziness in baseball management, screwing teams up by recruiting the wrong players and costing wise, grizzled veterans like Gus their office jobs. This is exemplified with Matthew Lillard's sleazy Braves scout, a character who rather heavy-handedly represents the supposedly clueless new guard. In other words, a one-dimensional moron who knows nothing about baseball and lets his computer program do the work. That's a bit of a stretch, as is the assertion that an aging well traveled blind man is preferable. The truth probably lies somewhere in between in terms of statistics and experience and a narrative exploring would have been far more interesting than the one we get. Fair or not, that manipulation kept me from completely sympathizing with Gus when we're clearly meant to. Also odd is what a slog the action is considering there's more of an emphasis on actual scouting and recruiting at games as opposed to just analyzing statistics, a task Moneyball somehow found a way to make extremely exciting.

It all has kind of a lazy Sunday afternoon TV movie feel about it, only coming alive when Justin Timberlake arrives to share the screen with Amy Adams and Eastwood. He's ideal for the part of a cocky, but good-hearted former player who's career was cut short. He just nails it, making you wonder why he wasn't the protagonist since he certainly feels like one in scenes opposite Adams, with whom he has surprisingly great chemistry. Too bad the pacing of the relationship feels off, as it seems to take about an hour of screen time for those sparks to go anywhere, and by the time they do, we've checked out. Adams basically carries the whole movie bringing a considerable amount of depth her ice princess character and the usually hackneyed storyline of a father-hating daughter carrying emotional baggage. Without spoiling too much, when we're finally given an explanation for the rift between the two, it's in a flashback scene meant to pack a dramatic wallop, but instead had me howling with laughter. It plays like a bizarre cross between Equus and Dirty Harry. But that we even got a brief moment of bad-ass, old school Eastwood is reason enough to celebrate since the rest of the way through it does kind of feel like he's on autopilot, at times almost sending up his own image as an actor and icon.

For all it does wrong, this gets one really important thing right. There's this seemingly throwaway moment toward the middle of the picture with the obnoxious (and boy he's obnoxious) player Gus and Johnny are scouting that's strangely memorable, its full repercussions figuring into the conclusion in a surprising way. The way it returns, much like everything else in the third act, is probably a bit too convenient, but the underlying message of talent hiding anywhere isn't. Of course, a few more happy (if not completely earned) resolutions are also shoehorned into an ending that clumsily juggles personal and professional trials, before tying them up nicely with a bow. Ironically, the film is strongest when dealing with the personal drama and weaker in the professional department, namely everything involving Mickey's work problems back home, resulting in annoying, undramatic scenes with Adams' face buried in her phone, texting non-stop. The attempt join everything together at the end comes off as well as it can given the circumstances, even as Lorenz faces limitations imposed on him by an overstuffed script. Despite its predictability and the fact it has nothing particularly important to say, Trouble With The Curve is still a breezy watch, as there are far worse ways to kill two hours, especially for Eastwood fans who will probably feel obligated to see it. And they should. Just as long as they don't expect anything special.

The Master

Director: Paul Thomas Anderson
Starring: Joaquin Phoenix, Philip Seymour Hoffman, Amy Adams, Jesse Plemons, Madison Beaty, Ambyr Childers, Laura Dern, Rami Malek
Running Time: 137 min.
Rating: R

★★★★ (out of ★★★★)

   **Spoiler Warning: The Following Review Reveals Plot Details**

"Processing" is a word frequently used throughout Paul Thomas Anderson's The Master, and that's fitting considering it also describes what many will be doing after having seen it. In the film, processing (or "auditing" in Scientology speak) is the battery of repetitive and abrasive questioning roaming seaman Freddie Quell (Joaquin Phoenix) endures at the hands of Lancaster Dodd (Philip Seymour Hoffman), the scientist and author behind a controversial movement called "The Cure." This scene is, if you forgive the pun, a master class in screen acting that holds you enraptured for its duration. It's best to get it out of the way now and state there's absolutely no question the Cure is based on Scientology and the character of Dodd is roughly if not directly, inspired by L. Ron Hubbard. There's no need to dwell on it because it only provides the jumping off point and might be the least important element of a film so challenging, frustrating and baffling you may as well skip the first viewing all together because it'll demand at least three.

Having seen the film only days ago, I'm still trying to make sense of what it all means and slowly coming to terms with the fact that that's what makes it unforgettable. The narrative is all over the place, the two lead characters experience no growth from beginning to end and you'll want to bang your head against a wall when it's over. And yet it's like no American film in recent memory and sticks out like a sore thumb amongst PTA's previous work, none of which has ever been known for its conventionality. But with this, he's really made a raw statement, and while it may take years to figure out what that statement is, he's one of the few filmmakers left who refuse to just give us the answers. With expectations sky high, it was certainly possible to predict the picture's greatness, but few could have guessed it would be this impenetrable.

Our first glimpse of Freddie Quell is under his helmet as World War II comes to an end. A mentally ill alcoholic prone to fits of spontaneous rage, he can't hold down a job as a department store photographer, resulting in a memorable scene early on where he verbally and physically abuses a married customer. It's worth mentioning he's married only because that fact seems to be what drives Freddie over the edge. His quest for women and a family is a reoccurring theme throughout the film and his burning need for human companionship provides the purpose for his existence and, as the film argues, ours.

After a drunken night, Freddie ends up as a stowaway on the ship of the enigmatic Lancaster Dodd, whose quasi-religious, philosophical movement explores past lives, time travel, processing and forms of hypnosis to return the human form to its perfect essence, thus eradicating war and disease. In this young man, Dodd immediately sees an animal that needs to not only be contained, but cured and senses he could be the perfect subject for his practices, which are coming under increased scrutiny. A friendship and father-son dynamic that develops is at times touching, volatile and pathetic in how both seem to fulfill a need in each other. Freddie, the animal, needs the stability and focus the Cure's teachings provide so he can empty his emotional baggage. Dodd secretly and desperately wants the freedom Freddie has but his movement is built entirely around suppressing those animalistic urges.  His pregnant wife Peggy (Amy Adams) feels Freddie is past help and his unpredictability is a detriment to their cause. She may be right, but in Dodd's mind, it's as much his mission to prove himself right as to rescue a lost soul.

As Freddie, Joaquin Phoenix gives a performance unlike any other we've seen, playing an unconventional, often unlikable protagonist who keeps you on edge every moment he's on the screen with his volatility. Besides having literally no idea what he'll do from one scene to the next or when he'll just completely lose it, his exaggerated movements and mannerisms more closely resemble an old man than a young seaman. Phoenix is pushing 40 yet is still somehow completely believable as being in his twenties, middle-aged or an old man. Here it seems he gets to play all three as the character's actual age remains one of the film's many mysteries.

Slouched over like a hunchback with his pants nearly pulled up to his chest, words frequently come out of his mouth as a drunken warble with his emotional instability physically manifesting itself to the point that he looks physically ill. It's not just a brilliant performance, but a dangerous one because he keeps you on edge and anxious the whole time you're watching, constantly in your face and taking on the persona of a wild animal. During one of Freddie's many meltdowns Dodd reminds him he's the only one who likes him, and he's right. Of all the kooky theories Dodd dispenses throughout, the one that strangely seems the most plausible is that these two men were destined to somehow find one other across time and space.

Hoffman infuses Dodd with a blustery charisma and Wellesian presence that belies a deeply insecure fraud you still can't help but admire for his dedication, if nothing else. His best scenes are when his practices are questioned, causing the usually calm, confident Master to briefly lose it before realizing that doing so is a betrayal of the Cure's methods, which are frequently attacked. If behind every great man is a woman then Dodd's is his wife Peggy, played by Amy Adams in the scariest performance of her career. "Terrifying" or "emotionless" aren't adjectives usually associated with her work but she has a scene (and if you've seen it you know EXACTLY which one) that's so shocking it instantly puts everything about their marriage and this movement in full perspective. It's clear who the real puppet master is, as we find out Freddie isn't the only man in the film controlled by the opposite sex. A perfectly cast Jesse Plemons (who really resembles a younger Hoffman) has only a few scenes as Dodd's son Val but they're revelatory, with one resulting in perhaps the film's most memorable line. Even he thinks his father's a fraud. Laura Dern has an extended cameo as a Cure follower who eventually starts asking to many questions for her own good, and Dodd's.  

Viewers are likely to take an issue with the fact that the narrative follows an unusual trajectory that seems to spit in the face of what we'd consider a conventional three-act structure. There's this expectation that the film is building toward some kind of climactic showdown between the Dodd and Freddie, similar to the final violent bowling alley scene between Daniel Plainview and preacher Eli Sunday in There Will Be Blood. But this isn't that kind of a relationship, and the more we want to see Freddie break away and become Dodd's nemesis, the further PTA seems to tug in the opposite direction. The battle taking place is within themselves and it each needs the other to help fight it. The movie builds and builds before fading away into the distance, leaving the viewer to consider the possibility that some people just might be incapable of change, hardwired to sabotage their own happiness.

At one point Dodd tells Freddie that if he figures out a way to live without a master to let the rest of the world know because it would truly be a first. Dodd's master is his wife, while Freddie also has a girl, Doris (Madison Beaty) he thinks is waiting for him back home. And by the time he actually realizes what he wants, it's gone. The film starts almost exactly where it begins, with Freddie adrift. All he wanted was a human connection, and his brief bond with Dodd provided him with it, or maybe just the illusion and comfort of one. Like most things in his life, he couldn't find the discipline to dedicate himself to it, though a closing scene (extremely reminiscent of A Clockwork Orange) suggests the Cure's practices had some kind of lasting impact, even as we're unsure of exactly what. The jury's out on whether there's any hope for this character, or whether anyone will ever be able to fully dissect what occurs in the last third of the picture. In a way, the movie never truly ends.

About as divisive and polarizing as it is, a movie theater just might be the best and also worst place to see The Master. Technically speaking, it demands to be seen on the big screen to absorb the visual grandeur and hear Jonny Greenwood's unmistakably sad and sublime score that's more than a few miles removed from his previous PTA collaboration on There Will Be Blood. Yet, it so complex and intellectually involving it's impossible to imagine seeing it with an audience and being as absorbed as you would be watching it alone without any external distractions.

Too often period pieces are prone to feeling to cold and distant with such a technical emphasis on capturing a certain era (in this case the post-war 50's) that the story's pathos is lost. What PTA does better than anyone, and takes to a whole new level here, is check both those boxes in creating an epic that's technically brilliant without sacrificing emotional depth. It doesn't feel like a museum piece to be admired and respected from arms length like so many others released this time of year, but instead a picture to dive into repeatedly, making new discoveries on each viewing.

With this effort PTA cements his status as the best American filmmaker working today, surpassing his closest competitor David Fincher, whose recent Dragon Tattoo amounted to little more than pulpy nonsense. Even those who despise this picture (and boy will there be) couldn't reasonably consider it a disappointment just on the basis of the discussion and analysis it inspires. It also features two of our greatest actors in Phoenix and Hoffman going head-to-head in what will no doubt years from now be looked at as the pinnacle of their work. It's difficult enough to find new releases that give us something we've never seen before but this does that while still having enough respect for its audience to let us unravel what that "something" is. Challenging beyond belief, what throws you off most about The Master is how it doesn't actually begin until after the final credits roll. 

The Muppets

Director: James Bobin
Starring: Jason Segel, Amy Adams, Chris Cooper, Rashida Jones, Jack Black
Running Time: 103 min.
Rating: PG

★★★★ (out of ★★★★)

I knew within the first ten minutes of watching The Muppets that co-writer, star and lifelong Muppet fan Jason Segel nails it, putting to rest any doubts a new movie couldn't capture the true spirit of Jim Henson's original creation. Segel plays Gary and it makes perfect sense he would have grown up with a puppet brother named Walter. Of course they'd still live together as adults. And of course Gary would have a girlfriend named Mary who couldn't be played by anyone other than Amy Adams. And she'd worry that he still shares his bedroom with a puppet. This is the Muppets universe and Segel nails it even before they show up. A genuine joy from start to finish, the film asks whether there's still a place in our cynical world for the Muppets. Have we moved on? While the question is kind of horrifying, it's sadly not without merit considering how long they've been absent.

Attributing any favorable reaction exclusively to nostalgia would be kind of silly though, considering that's exactly what the movie's plot is built on. While kids will probably love this the movie's central concept leaves little doubt the primary audience just may be grown-ups who remember what it's like to be kids. That feeling is brilliantly conveyed through the new character of Walter who gets to tag along with Gary and Mary on vacation to Muppet Studios in Los Angeles. Now run-down and dilapidated, it's discovered the studio is being purchased by greedy oil tycoon Tex Richman (Chris Cooper) who plans to tear it down and drill unless the Muppets can raise 10 million dollars to buy it back. So now Walter, Gary and Mary have to track down Kermit and the gang and convince them to reunite for a telethon.

When we do catch up with Kermit, Fozzie, Gonzo, Animal and Miss Piggy it's relief to find out find out they return with their Henson era Muppet Show personalities intact. After Henson's death the property lost its way in the 90's with Muppets in Space and Muppet Treasure Island failing re-capture that magic, instead shoehorning them into parody. They've really been gone a lot longer than anyone's willing to admit. It was never that the public didn't want them anymore but rather they didn't want many of the misguided latter projects in which they appeared. What was always most endearing about the Muppets was how life-like each seemed, easily recognizable by not only their names, looks and mannerisms, but individual characteristics. As strange as it sounds to say of puppets, they seemed to have personalities that reminded us of ourselves at our best and worst, and that's where much their appeal came from. Those later movies took that away, and once you do that, there really isn't much left. Segel and Stoller bring it back, which becomes clear when we see Kermit again, reacting to news of a potential reunion exactly how Kermit should and would. Always the ringleader of the group and rallying the troops, this is the first time we've ever seen the character in a state of total hopelessness. In an empty, secluded mansion reminiscing of fun times with the gang that seem long gone (poignantly realized in the musical number "Pictures in My Head"), it's Kermit in need of inspiration this time. As for the rest, Fozzie's a failed comic, Animal's in anger management therapy, Gonzo's selling toilets and Miss Piggy is a fashion editor in Paris. It all seems in the spirit of how we remember them. 

It's one thing to be true to the original characters, but it's another for director James Bobin, Segel and co-writer Nicholas Stoller to somehow all these years later be able to recapture the exact tone and humor of the Muppets, which is very distinctive and fairly difficult to duplicate. It's a mistake, if not an outright betrayal, to have them be edgy or cynical, but the humor can't seem too juvenile either, as it's always featured inside jokes aimed at adults. Here the entire plot practically demands it. As was done in the original variety show and movies the fourth wall is broken to let the audience in on the fact that the characters get it. Early on, in response to Kermit's refusal of a reunion, Amy Adams remarks it's going to be a really short one. When it's time for a montage Segel's more than happy to let us know we're getting one. Chris Cooper's sneeering villain verbally brags (and at one point even raps) that he's the sneering villain. It's exactly that self-awareness and sense of fun that most of the post-Henson projects lacked and what made the 80's era projects such a communal viewing experience.

The Muppets being rooted in past provide some of the best in-jokes such as Kermit flipping through his old Rolodex looking for a celebrity guest and Walter being told it isn't 1978 anymore. And I'd say it's about time everyone be re-introduced to the awesomeness that is Starship's "We Built This City," as a pop song long derided as soulless corporate rock is redeemed here as the exact opposite, finding its place as an inspirational Muppets anthem and finally sounding like the nostalgic guilty pleasure it was meant to be all along. Segel and Adams, while ceding much of the spotlight to their puppet co-stars, seem to effortlessly slide right into this world. Not only does it feel very natural seeing them act alongside them (which can't be easy) but they're great together and look like they're having the time of their lives, especially during the many musical numbers. Segel has stated being able to make and act in this is a childhood dream come true for him, but what caught me off guard was just how much the performance reflected that. He's like a giant kid in a candy store and doesn't once hit a false or insincere note. Chris Cooper may own an Oscar but now he can say he played the villain in a Muppet movie. Take a guess which I think is the bigger accomplishment. There are many guest appearances and cameos, with two key roles going to Rashida Jones as a TV exec who thinks the Muppets are yesterdays news and Jack Black playing a version of himself. 

If I have a complaint about the film (and it's admittedly a really small one), it's that I expected bigger stars to cameo from what I read and heard about the production. Whether they weren't available, didn't want to appear or certain scenes were left on the cutting room floor I have no idea, but the filmmakers did the best with what they had, as many were cleverly placed and completely in sync with the Muppet tradition. But what's most in in sync with that tradition are the original songs written and produced by Flight of the Conchords' star Bret McKenzie, that meet, if not surpass, the standard of excellence set by classic Muppet songs like "The Rainbow Connection" (which of course also shows up). The two real standouts and likely Oscar nominees for Best Song are the infectiously catchy "Life's a Happy Song" and "Man or Muppet," the latter featuring a musical number so subversively hilarious it wouldn't seem out of place as an SNL Digital Short.

While we all know the two characters who will ultimately take center stage, and justifiably do, I have a feeling the puppet creation that may be most remembered from this movie is Segel's original one. It's a risky move introducing a new Muppet, but it's even riskier making him, not necessarily Kermit or any of the others, the protagonist of the story. Walter's no Jar Jar Binks. Performed by puppeteer Peter Linz and providing many lump in throat moments, he's a brilliantly realized character that not only stands in for all Muppet fans, but children and adults who must overcome a lack of self-confidence to face their fears. One of the more interesting aspects of Walter is his age, or lack of it. That's not a coincidence. He seems to be teetering between childhood innocence and adulthood, with the resolution of that struggle coming to a head emotionally at the end. It's the sophisticated writing of this character's journey that really takes this film to the next level making it a benchmark in family entertainment that should be enjoyed for years to come. And the finale actually warrants discussion in that it isn't exactly what you'd expect, but in a good way. I think. The final few minutes kind of reverses expectations to a point that it almost becomes confusing. Is it happy? Sad? Both? I don't know and it doesn't matter. What does is that this feels like The Muppets and it's great to have them back.

The Fighter

Director: David O. Russell
Starring: Mark Wahlberg, Christian Bale, Melissa Leo, Amy Adams, Jack McGee
Running Time: 115 min.
Rating: R


★★★ ½ (out of ★★★★)


The Fighter is a story about a hard-working guy surrounded by well-meaning morons. That comes as a relief since here I was going into this thinking I'd be re-watching The Wrestler, only this time with boxing. It isn't technically about boxing, or even really a sports movie. The morons in question are family and this film offers up the best case yet for that old saying that you can't choose your family. The Fighter is all about family, but not in that sappy, sentimental way most sports movies are about them sticking together to triumph over adversity. This is about how they can, despite their best intentions, hold someone back and stop them from getting where they need to go. That's just the starting point for a true story that actually feels like a true story for its brutal honesty and realism, holding nothing back in its sometimes ugly, occasionally hilarious depiction of its subjects. That the director's controversial hot head David O. Russell (ironically taking the reigns from The Wrestler's Darren Aronofsky who dropped out to make Black Swan but stayed on as a producer) insured it would be edgy and not go the predictable, sentimental route of other true life sports stories. His gritty, take no prisoners approach to the material helps a lot as for nearly two hours the biggest fights happen outside the ring, in living rooms, outside of crack houses and on front porches as a dysfunctional family struggles to get on the same page. Anyone arguing that a frightening Christian Bale or to a slightly lesser degree, his unrecognizable co-star Melissa Leo, didn't deserve their supporting Oscar wins (or Amy Adams her nomination) for their work here don't have a leg to stand on. Mark Wahlberg may be the star, but this movie's theirs.

"Irish" Micky Ward (Wahlberg) is a struggling, slightly past-his-prime welterweight boxer from a working-class family in Lowell, Massachutsettes whose older half-brother Dicky Eklund's (Bale) claim to fame is maybe (depending on who you talk to) knocking out Sugar Ray Leonard years ago in a televised HBO match. Now, he's a 40-year-old crack addict thinking he's getting a televised special on his "comeback," that's actually a documentary on the dangers of drug use. Consumed with the past and living vicariously through Micky, Dicky is a total disaster as his trainer, driving his career into the ground by spending his days at a crack house and booking him against much heavier fighters he doesn't stand a chance against.  Not helping any is their manager mother, Alice (Melissa Leo), more concerned with Dicky's hopeless, imaginary comeback and re-living the past than getting Micky the right fights. Only their father George (Jack McGee) seems clued into reality and when he introduces Micky to feisty bartender Charlene (Amy Adams) and they begin a relationship, her attempts to get him to see the damage his professional damage his family is causing him results in an ugly feud. With Dicky's crack addiction and erratic behavior worsening, Micky is forced to choose between his career and family.

One of the film's most memorable moments is its opening as Dicky, once known as "The Pride of Lowell" for his in-ring accomplishments, walks the neighborhood with his brother and it's clear at least some of Dicky's boasting is true, or was at one point. This great sequence (set to The Heavy's "How Do You Like Me Now") really takes us into the neighborhood and lets us speculate whether these guys are local legends because they're great, or just simply because of a lack of better alternatives or anything else for these locals to latch onto. It's never really established whether either of these guys were ever great boxers (you could even argue Micky is somewhat terrible based on what we see), which ends up being one the story's better attributes. A glory hog, Dicky is a legend in his own mind and all the attention (whether it be good or bad) is just added fuel for him to self-destruct as he selfishly but maybe unknowingly leads his brother's career down the gutter while succumbing to his addictions. And boy is this some supporting performance from Christian Bale, reminding us in case we've forgotten during his Batman stint, why he's still one of the very best at what he does. The transformation he undergoes here is nothing short of astonishing. Unrecognizably skeletal (dropping nearly as much weight as he did for The Machinist) and perfecting a credible Boston accent, this is an acting tour-de-force that if entered into the lead category at this year's Oscars probably would have sent Colin Firth home empty handed. No one could have also guessed Bale was capable of being this funny, as he keeps us laughing uncomfortably at his antics at even the film's darkest moments. 

Almost equally unrecognizable and powerful is Melissa Leo as the hot-tempered, delusional matriarch who seems to want to do the best for both her sons but is just too stubborn and narrow-minded to have any kind of a positive affact on either of her sons' lives. What Bale and Leo both do best is make sure neither of these people come off as outright despicable or out to destroy Micky, which is a small miracle considering all the heinous damage they inflict. At times both almost seem to try to be helping, but in the only way they know how. You'd see how someone as loyal as Micky would fall into the trap of not wanting to turn his back on them, even as they unintentionally sabotage his future. Considering Micky's supposed to be 31 years old and 145 pounds, Wahlberg is definitely miscast on paper but he pulls it off anyway if only because it's difficult to picture anyone else playing this role. He's always good at conveying quiet determination, and is more low-key than anyone, which strangely makes him perfect for this. It's most fun to watch Wahlberg when he's hilariously miscast (like in The Happening and The Lovely Bones) because he always manages to overcome it through sheer hard work, which is commendably rare. As Charlene, be prepared for Amy Adams as you've never seen her before. As a tough, angry bitch who refuses to back down to Micky's family (and shouldn't because she's right), she displays a side to her acting talent totally unanticipated. One scene in which her fearless character goes toe-to-toe with all of Micky's repulsive sisters on the front porch is alone worth the price of admission. While it's unusual the lead is completely overshadowed by the rest of the cast, given the nature of the story, it almost seems appropriate here.

Playing half like a hard-hitting docudrama and also a true-life sports story, Russell carefully avoids the pitfalls usually associated with these types of films by focusing with unrelenting honesty on this family feud. The boxing scenes are well choreographed and easy to follow but that probably occupies the least amount of time in this story. Music plays an important role as the action takes place in 1993 and feels like it, many of the rock soundtrack selections (including Led Zeppelin, The Scorpions and Red Hot Chili Peppers) are lifted from other eras, yet are interwoven seamlessly. As is unfortunately the norm these days, none of these songs (some of the best musical choices assembled for a picture this year) are available on the officially released album due to rights issues so enjoy them in the movie while you can. Some may take issue with the ending and that's understandable but I didn't have a problem with it since it's difficult coming up with any alternative that could have worked any better considering this is based on a true story and that's exactly what happened. It doesn't feel like a cop-out. Underdog stories about an athletes overcoming the odds have been done to death, but The Fighter isn't exactly that and deserves credit for putting a fresh spin on something we thought they ran out of fresh spins for.

Doubt

Director: John Patrick Shanley
Starring: Meryl Streep, Philip Seymour Hoffman, Amy Adams, Viola Davis
Running Time: 104 min.
Rating: PG-13

★★★ (out of ★★★★)

As a kid, I remember the public library in town always stocked movies, some classics, that appealed primarily to the "older" crowd. Doubt wouldn't be that out of place among them. It's dry Oscar bait that at times feels more like a homework assignment than a fully realized cinematic experience. Even the title is somewhat of a misnomer. It could very easily be changed to Here Say, Rumor or Gossip. We start in a position of knowing nothing and finish in a position of knowing...nothing. Not a deal killer by any means, but when there isn't anything other than the performances to support that, it can become an issue.

In interviews writer/director John Patrick Shanley has stated that the movie really begins after the final credits roll at which point you can discuss and debate. Discuss what? I hope he's not referring to whether this priest molested a student because there's no indication at all that he did. We're given no evidence, nothing to go on, so the film essentially becomes one giant true or false question. Here's a sample of a discussion I had with someone after the film:

Him: "So, think he did it?"

Me: "No."

That's about the extent of it. Since the film doesn't present any evidence or a compelling argument in either direction something is lost and the performances have to make up for it, which they handily do. The story becomes about feelings and motivations rather than guilt or innocence. There isn't much to weigh here. Still, it's worth contrasting this with Ron Howard's far superior Frost/Nixon, this past year's other big Oscar-ready stage adaptation. There, Howard opened opened up the story visually and used an effective narrative framing device that added tension and history. It felt like an epic showdown and a prize fight between two heavyweights. Shanley seems to have just grabbed a camera and shot the Tony Award winning play, which just so happens to be his own.

In way Doubt reminds me more of Rachel Getting Married or The Wrestler, in that it's primarily a performance showcase except for the fact those two films dug deeper and transcended that, giving you substantially more to think about when they ended. This is a solid, if slightly transparent effort completely supported by the caliber of the acting, which is downright brilliant across the board. For that it has more in common with Milk, though it doesn't carry nearly the same level of expectation and subsequent disappointment. At least here you get to make up your own mind, even if there isn't a whole lot to consider.

It's the fall of 1964 at St. Nicholas Church School in the Bronx where the principal, Sister Aloysius (Meryl Streep) rules with an iron fist, treating misbehaving students like inmates in a penitentary and inspiring fear everywhere she goes. Father Flynn (Philip Seymour Hoffman) operates in stark contrast, taking a friendlier approach to the kids and acting as an encouraging mentor. Nearly two years after the assassination of President Kennedy the world is changing, kids are changing and Flynn believes Aloysius' method of discipline is becoming irrelevant.

Caught in the middle of their philosophical struggle is the young, naive Sister James (Amy Adams) who has reason (albeit very little) to suspect Flynn may be carrying on an "inappropriate relationship" with Donald Muller (Joseph Foster) the only African-American student in the school. She takes her suspicions to Aloysius who despite having no evidence, stills pursues the issue, even involving the boy's mother (Viola Davis). Aloysius will stop at nothing in her quest to wrangle a confession out of Flynn and prevent him from teaching at her school ever again, making us wonder whether she really is out to protect the welfare of these children or is more interested in settling a personal vendetta.

The worst way to approach this film is as a moral mystery. What it is instead is a clash of values and cultures brought about by allegations that don't carry much wait outside of Aloysius' belief in her heart that they're true. And her belief could be clouded by a pre-conceived bias and intolerance toward the man accused of the crime. Or maybe it isn't. That notion is even scarier. There's the possibility that this mild-mannered teacher who by outward appearances seems to be a great mentoring figure to kids could have actually done this. Who among us hasn't ever just gone on a gut feeling and nothing more? The performances rather than Shanley's script, give the dilemma nuance and depth. With less talented actors you could easily envision this coming across as three talking heads debating a non-existent issue.

Streep and Hoffman draw you in with their lived in portrayals of two people with greatly differing views of intolerance, which is what the script purports to be about. Her Sister Aloysius starts the film as an ice cold disciplinarian and she ends the film as that as well so Streep instead makes our view of her evolve. We still dislike her by the final credits, but at least we can understand where she's coming from even though her guard never really comes down. She's set in her ways and grasping as hard as she can to what she believes is best for her students, ignorant to the fact that times have changed and left her behind. That's never clearer than in the sensational, some what bizarre scene Streep shares with Viola Davis, who plays the boy's mother.

Davis joins the company of Judi Dench, William Hurt and Ruby Dee in earning an Oscar nomination for only a precious few minutes worth of screen time. It's well deserved and in a way her character speaks for audience in wondering whether Aloysius has thought through what these allegations could do not to Flynn, but the boy. Mrs. Muller just wants to get her son through the school year in one piece and the absolutely horrifying idea is thrown out there that being molested may not even be his worst problem in life.

There's a whole world out there that Aloysius hasn't even considered or maybe just can't. Davis' character throws that in her face and the result is the only scene in the film that will have you talking afterward. It's a stretch and a complicated part to pull off believably (especially in so short a time span) but Davis does, holding her own with an acting legend in the process. Hoffman gives a benevolent vibe to Flynn that makes you want to root for him, but something seems off. A cloud of suspicion hangs over him, enough for you to consider that he could have done this despite the lack of proof. Amy Adams plays the quiet wallflower but effectively takes the character to the next level as the situation unfolds, even as her cheery, optimistic demeanor wears on you after a while

I was surprised to read in the credits that the film was shot by the great Roger Deakins and scored by composer Howard Shore because this has to rank among the least memorable offerings for both. I can't recall a shot that stayed with me or whether there was even any music at all. This is a performance piece and a front row ticket to watch some of our most talented actors verbally spar with one another. The film will likely hit hardest for those who attended Catholic school in their youth. Everyone I've talked to who has told me that they knew a Sister Aloysius, a Sister James, or a Father Flynn, if not all three. It was the real Sister James who inspired Shanley to write the play and its her objective but optimistic stance audiences will relate to best.

I admired the film but would never see it again. Nor would I feel compelled to discuss it since we know no more at the end than the beginning. Not even a little more. While it's is a superbly acted and at least somewhat emotionally involving picture I can't help but think that it helps explain why many dread Oscar season. Impressively crafted, but draining, Doubt is worthy of a couple of acting nominations, a hearty golf clap, and little else.