Patriots Day

Director: Peter Berg
Starring: Mark Wahlberg, Kevin Bacon, John Goodman, J.K. Simmons, Michelle Monaghan, Alex Wolff, Themo Melikidze, Michael Beach, James Colby, Jimmy O. Yang, Rachel Brosnahan, Christopher O' Shea, Melissa Benoist, Khandi Alexander
Running Time: 133 min.
Rating: R

★★★ (out of ★★★★)

Depending on your opinion of very recent real life tragedies being brought to the big screen, Peter Berg's Patriots Day will either be a heavily anticipated or nervously dreaded experience. That the end result is positive can mainly be attributed to the realism and tension he brings to the sensitive material, which recreates an attack and subsequent manhunt sure to have many on pins and needles despite everyone's full knowledge of the outcome.  There are about two or three sequences in the film that are not only eye-opening in terms of the little nuggets of information provided, but in their depiction of both the disappointment and eventual triumph of the human spirit all within the span of a couple of days.

The usually inconsistent, over-the-top Berg shows surprising restraint, with star Mark Wahlberg taking on a semi-fictional role that's not only right in his wheelhouse, but firmly rooted in his own hometown, reminding us the gravitas he brings when properly cast in a part to suit his strengths. The entire picture is essentially broken down into sections, with character sketches sprinkled throughout. The attack, the shootout, the hostage situation, the manhunt, and most controversially, the interrogation.

While the tragedy occurred only four years ago, it's startling to consider just how much has already been forgotten about that day and in the hours leading up to 2013's doomed Boston Marathon. It's an excellently made, respectful encapsulation destined to be unfairly picked apart and unpacked due to the director's politics. But in this case, skeptics are reading into something that just isn't there. As the unnecessary mini-documentary that closes the film shows, Berg's film definitely conveys a point of view, but it's far from political and one you'd hope everyone shares.

When something like this happens, the immediate reaction should be anger and outrage, with any compassion reserved for the victims and their families. In fact, it's so obvious that you'd have to heavily question the need for the non-fictional epilogue closing the film, restating with real life accounts what was already conveyed in the preceding two hours. Whether it was a preemptive defense against unfair critics ready to slam the right-skewing filmmaker for even taking the project, there's no need for anyone to feel guilty for making or watching this. It's worthwhile, both for history and opinion, thankfully done well enough to leave little room for heated debate over its merits.

It's April 15, 2013 and injured Police Sergeant Tommy Saunders (Wahlberg) is returning to work the Boston Marathon after a recent suspension, looking to prove he's put his issues behind him, taking marching orders from Commissioner Ed Davis (John Goodman). But when two bombs are detonated near the finish line of the race by Tamerlan Tsarnaev (Themo Melikidze) and his younger brother Dzhokhar (Alex Wolff), chaos and bloodshed erupt with the surviving victims being taken to local hospitals. Couples such as spectators Jessica Kensky (Rachel Brosnahan) and husband Patrick Downes (Chistopher O'Shea) are separated and unaware for hours whether their spouse is even still alive. With FBI Special Agent Richard DesLauriers (Kevin Bacon) taking over the investigation and working in conjunction with Boston Police, they begin to close in on their suspects. But the brothers won't go quietly, inflicting more damage until eventually being brought down by the law enforcement and citizens of a tough city who band together under the worst circumstances imaginable.

Berg does an admirable job setting the table for what's to come, introducing characters who we know, or maybe even specifically remember, play roles in the tragedy. Some are given more screen time than others, but a clear emphasis is put on law enforcement and Wahlberg's Sgt. Saunders, a composite of various real-life officers on duty that day. Told directly in a chronologically coherent way, title cards count down to the start of the race and the direct aftermath in the following hours are laid out as a compelling police procedural. It's hard to think of a box that goes unchecked, or a moment where are memory isn't jogged as to certain details that made the headlines, but without the specificity we get here.

The information we're privy to is especially insightful when concerning the actions of the bombers both leading up to and directly following the attack. It's also kind of frightening, as the perpetrators take center stage in a manner that could easily turn off those already made uncomfortable by the very idea of this film existing. We see their preparations, sloppy game plan for escape and the surprisingly tough fight they put up against Boston's finest. And of this is viewed through a likely accurate prism that shows them hanging out and arguing like brothers separated in age usually would. Tamerlan's clearly the mastermind and aggressor, taking his younger brother along for the ride, poisoning his mind a little more, a detail supporting the narrative running through the news at the the time.

From the recreation of the crime scene to painstaking video recognition techniques, a step-by-step process is shown to explain how the authorities went from literally no information to putting an entire city on lockdown until eventually descending upon the single surviving terrorist hiding in a neighbor's yard. If there's any issues with the film, they'd stem from it being so caught up in in the intriguing nuts and bolts of the event and its aftermath that it can sometimes come across as too rote or mechanical. It's a strange complaint considering Berg's the director, but this still works better as an action thriller than a historical drama. While the revolving door of major and minor characters makes it harder to be invested in any of them for lengthy periods, Wahlberg, Bacon and a couple of others get to shine through in their roles, with the likes of Goodman, Michelle Monaghan and an effective J.K. Simmons (as nearby Watertown Police Sergeant Jeffrey Pugliese) trying to leave an imprint in lesser ones, the former unfortunately saddled as a stereotypical worried wife to Wahlberg's hero.

Ironically, it's two sequences centering around forgotten supporting players ignored by the media that land the biggest emotional blow. The first involves the bravery of carjacking hostage Dun Meng (Jimmy O. Yang), who summons a strength from inside that few could likely access during such an ordeal. On the other end of the spectrum is the jaw-dropping interrogation of Tamerlan Tsarnaev's loyally subservient, radicalized wife, Katherine Russell (Melissa Benoist) at the hands of Khandi Alexander's nameless "The Interrogator." That's who she's actually listed as in the film's credits and after you view the controversial scene (the best acted of the entire picture), you'll know why any other name or description couldn't possibly do her justice.

Since Berg lays everything out so logically it becomes an even bigger question mark as to why he chose to tag on a mini-documentary at the end of a faithful adaptation of events that hardly needs it. Where a quick glimpse at the real people posing with their onscreen counterparts, or even a simple graphic or title card onscreen updating us on those involved would more than suffice, we instead get something you'd more likely find as DVD extra, assuming that medium were still thriving or relevant. While it's unfair to entirely dismiss it or his intentions, the answer as to why Berg would make such a creatively questionable choice proves he has no agenda other than to pay tribute to the survivors and law enforcement. And as far as agendas go, that's a pretty good one to have.
  

Kong: Skull Island

Director: Jordan Vogt-Roberts
Starring: Tom Hiddleston, Samuel L. Jackson, John Goodman, Brie Larson, Jing Tian, Toby Kebbell, John Ortiz, Corey Hawkins, Jason Mitchell, Shea Whigham, Thomas Mann, Terry Notary, John C. Reilly
Running Time: 118 min.
Rating: PG-13

★★★ (out of ★★★★)

A few important attributes set Kong: Skull Island apart from your typical spring blockbuster, while still entirely managing to entertain and enthrall as if it is one. For starters, it's a period piece, which is completely unfamiliar territory for an action franchise. It's not everyday critics and audiences would describe a Kong movie by referencing Vietnam or discussing a compilation of rock's greatest hits from the era on the soundtrack. That's not to say all of this works, or is even that groundbreaking, but it serves as icing on the cake, enhancing what's already a surprisingly well crafted production that feels less like a desperate cash grab than any other recent action vehicle or franchise reboot of the past few years. You may as well call it Apocalypse Kong, in not only its obvious allusions to that war classic, but the fact that there's some artistic value on display here that earns some of those comparisons. It's actually well directed, branded with a visual stamp that isn't easily forgettable, bringing to life a screenplay that gets the job done in successfully reintroducing an iconic character with a mixed on screen track record.

It's almost become a running joke how studios have been cherry-picking little known, critically acclaimed young, indie directors to helm these gigantic tentpole franchises. Why? They're relatively cheap, grateful for the opportunity to make the kind of awe-inspiring spectacle they grew up watching, and are more often than not willing to be pushed around a little (sometimes a lot) by the studio. Of course, using these filmmakers as a vessel to cram their vision down unsuspecting audiences throats doesn't come without risks since some directors will inevitably acclimate better than others. But for every Fantastic Four horror story, there's a Jurassic World or Godzilla, which is more than enough for them to justify continuing the approach. And as cynical as that all seems, sometimes a happy balance comes out of this that manages to satisfy both commercial and creative concerns.

In 2013, Jordan Vogt-Roberts wrote and directed a little movie called The Kings of Summer, and you can somehow tell the same person made this, despite it being over ten times the budget and scope. His vision successfully seeps through, proving he's one of the few indie filmmakers capable of mastering this sort of thing. We can't call him a sell-out, or at least if he is, does a good enough job hiding it, carefully threading that needle between mainstream acceptance and critical respect so many of his peers can't. And he does it in under two hours, thumbing his nose at the constant barrage of pointlessly overlong two and a half action spectacles we endure each year. Of course, we still get one of those universe-building post-credit sequence plugs. A brief, if unnecessary, reminder that no matter how well this worked, certain things will never change.

It's 1973 and with the U.S. just pulling out of Vietnam, senior government official with the Monarch organization, Bill Randa (John Goodman), seeks funding for an expedition to map out a mysterious location in the South Pacific cryptically known as "Skull Island" After meeting some initial resistance, he gets clearance to assemble a team, recruiting former British Special Air Service Captain James Conrad (Tom Hiddleston) as their tracker, Lieutenant Colonel Preston Packard (Samuel L. Jackson) and his Vietnam helicopter squadron as a military escort, backed by right-hand men Major Jack Chapman (Toby Kebbell) and Captain Earl Cole (Shea Whigham).

Joining them for the ride is Monarch's seismologist Houston Brooks (Corey Hawkins) and fesity, opinionated "anti-war" photojournalist Mason Weaver (Academy Award Winner Brie Larson). But immediately upon their arrival, it's clear this won't just be any expedition, as Packard's men begin dropping bombs that awaken a very angry Kong, who kills many of his men, leaving the remainder of the crew stranded and scattered on the island. But the giant ape may not be their biggest worry, with a more malevolent threat intent on making sure they never make it home.

Making its intentions clear early, the film's overall strategy stands in stark contrast to previous cinematic takes on the giant beast: Show Kong early and often. With little build-up other than brief introductions to the various characters and a few minutes designated to the assembly of the team, it's off to the island. There's no teasing here as Kong's impact is felt immediately, and once we lay eyes on him, it's obvious why they skipped the formalities and wanted to show him off.

A combination of CGI and motion capture performance, the monster (supposedly designed to invoke the 1930's version) looks as good as he ever has, instantly recognizable without really resembling the incarnation we saw in Peter Jackson's 2005 version, which also boasted fine effects work. It would be easy to call this design better, but it's probably more accurate to describe it as a little more expressive and distinctive enough for this reboot needed to step out from the shadows of its predecessors. As far as the creatively inspired call to set the story in the post-Vietnam, Nixon-era 1970's, it does give the narrative some thematic legs it wouldn't otherwise have, both in regard to certain characters' motivations and many of the aesthetic choices made. And it's those decisions, which to a point give this a look and feel similar to films from that period, is far and away the most captivating aspect of the entire production.

Ironically, an overstuffed soundtrack compilation of 60's and 70's hits do more to hurt that feeling than help since the plot and visuals were already doing a fine enough job. Calling this a great soundtrack wouldn't necessarily be wrong in terms of song choices, but it does beg the question whether it's possible to have too much of a good thing. A more conservative placement of music at carefully curated key moments probably would have been far more effective and impactful than drenching the first third of the picture in every famous classic rock song the studio was able to get their hands on. Henry Jackman's psychedelic, period-specific score goes a longer way in invoking the mood they're going for, and proves less distracting.

And since the priority is showing Kong as early as possible, the characters at first seem thinly drawn, at least until all hell breaks loose on the island and we find out who's made of what. Billed as the lead, Tom Hiddleston probably has the least developed character of the bunch, playing a one-dimensional heroic character who doesn't necessarily do anything heroic enough to stand out in any way. It's through no fault of his own that the screenplay is more interested in those who have a direct emotional connection to Kong. As Packard, Samuel L. Jackson returns to the same angry agitator that's been his stock in trade since the 90's, but this is actually one of his better performances since there's at least some motivation behind it, and as detestable as he is, the intentions behind his villainous behavior fit.

When Packard's obsession with downing Kong careens out of control,  the most dissenting voice is that of awesomely named photographer Mason Weaver, who's played by Brie Larson in her first post-Oscar role. In many ways she's the film's true focal point, with her character representing one of the biggest deviations from Kong's long outdated "damsel in distress" mythology. Unlike Fay Wray, Jessica Lange, or Naomi Watts, she isn't window dressing or set up as a love interest for the ape as we've seen in the past. It's of little surprise she's even great in something like this, with one particular scene providing what's sure to go down as the the film's most memorable visual. And to top it off, she looks like a total badass shooting a flare gun, squashing any concerns about her playing a screen hero, super or otherwise.

Skull Island works best when taking itself dead seriously, faltering only when it pauses for jokes. It's not as guilty as something like The Martian in that regard, but there's a time and place for that so it isn't unfair to wish the writers were more judicious in picking their spots. The only time it really works is whenever John C. Reilly's wisecracking Hank Marlow appears, a World War II lieutenant who crash landed on the island almost thirty years prior and makes it his mission to get this crew home.  That has more to do with the fact that it's Reilly playing him but there's no denying it's the strongest sub-plot, rightfully taking center stage at the end.

While most franchise movies die a slow, painful death near the two hour mark and limp for another thirty minutes to the finish line, this one not only avoids overstaying its welcome, but actually picks up steam. And because everything is so well directed and it looks and feels like the work of a real visual artist, it's almost impossible not to get greedy and wish for even more from the script. Or more accurately, less. As a franchise action movie with compelling action sequences, you also can't help but wonder how much of a difference it would make if this were a hard 'R' and they really went for the jugular, forgoing commercial concerns altogether. It may or may not have been as fun, but it's hard to take issue with what we get, which successfully signals that the iconic Kong is back with a vengeance. 
 

10 Cloverfield Lane

Director: Dan Trachtenberg
Starring: Mary Elizabeth Winstead, John Goodman, John Gallagher, Jr., Bradley Cooper, Suzanne Cryer
Running Time: 103 min.
Rating: PG-13

★★★ (out of ★★★★)

**Spoiler Warning: This review gives away key plot details, including the ending**

10 Cloverfield Lane raises a fascinating question for any critic or audience member who might happen to share my general opinion of it. And there will likely be more than a few. What happens when 90 percent of a movie is amazing, but the last 15 minutes are so misguided and disappointing that it threatens to completely overshadow whatever greatness came before? In this case, there was a lot of it, from the overall premise to the atmosphere and performances, it shares very little in common with 2008's monster movie Cloverfield, which was throwaway fun. This isn't. It's something much more than that for a good deal of its running time. With its production, eventual release and title somehow managing to stay shrouded in secrecy, few knew this "spiritual sequel" to Cloverfield was even coming, much less what it would be about, or who would star. But more importantly, that it could be done this well. That may be why the ending is so infuriating, but for me a bigger reason is that I was treated to two of my favorite actors going toe-to-toe for 90 minutes in the service of a story that came so close to doing them and viewers proud, only to drop the ball at the end.

What eventually occurs in no way diminishes those performances, but that any studio thought the idea of John Goodman as a survivalist holding people captive in an underground bunker wasn't scary enough on its own is mind boggling. On top of that, the script attaches enough moral implications and questions to what he's doing to make Rod Serling proud. What he wouldn't be so proud of is the ending. And it's not so much that I'm completely against what they did (though I still didn't care for it), but rather how. So here's my advice: When you get to about the hour and twenty-five minute mark, just hit "STOP" on your remote and turn the missing minutes into one of those old school "Choose Your Own Adventure" books where you pick the ending. There's little doubt whatever scenario you come up with will be more compelling than what the filmmakers ultimately chose. And the sad part is, ending notwithstanding, it's still one of the year's most compelling films.

When we first meet Michelle (Mary Elizabeth Winstead), she's packing up and leaving New Orleans after an argument with her fiancé Ben (voiced by Bradley Cooper). Distraught and distracted by news of major blackouts across the country, her car suddenly hits something and careens off the road. She awakens in a basement chained to a wall with an IV in her arm. The man holding her there is the burly, intimidating Howard Stambler (John Goodman), an obsessive survivalist who's built a fallout shelter under his farmhouse in the event of an attack, nuclear or otherwise. According to him, such an attack has already occurred, claiming the lives of nearly everyone outside who breathed the contaminated air.

Michelle and a man named Emmett (John Gallagher, Jr.) who forced himself into the bunker, are told by Howard that under no uncertain terms can they leave until the poisoned air's safe, which could be two years at the earliest. Not buying the far-fetched story and assuming she's been kidnapped by a crazed lunatic (with Howard's actions doing little to contradict that), a terrified Michelle makes plans to escape, but will need Emmett's help. Even as evidence mounts that there might be some truth to Howard's claims that the terror awaiting them outside is far worse than anything he can dish out.

Whether or not this was an intentional inspiration, the premise thematically draws certain comparisons to the classic Twilight Zone episode, "The Monsters are Due on Maple Street," in which panicked, desperate neighbors turn against each another when faced with an inexplicable, otherworldly threat. This is obviously a more contained version of that but the basic idea of how far people is willing to go and the amount of force they'll exert over others for self-preservation and survival are very similar.

Frightening in its timeliness, the screenplay cleverly and indirectly tackles 9/11 paranoia, terrorism and national security through the character of Howard, who's very much grounded in the world in which we now live. With his emphasis on law and order and second amendment rights it's not hard to picture him heading out to the polls on Election Day, packing heat and wearing a "Make America Great Again" hat. That's not a knock on Trump supporters, but rather a reasonable interpretation of this character based on the evidence, as well as a credit to Goodman's complex, forceful performance, which wildly vacillates between cold and detached and enthusiastically charismatic at the drop of a dime. It's because of him that we're able to get that clear a picture of the man, knowing exactly what he stands for and what pisses him off. The writers should also take some credit for concocting a character that really hits a cultural zeitgeist they couldn't have possibly known about when this went into pre-production.

What we're fuzzier on are the stoic, often humorless Howard's exact intentions, which is where so much of the film derives its suspense. The first inclination is that he's a psychotic kidnapper since his doomsday scenario doesn't add up on any logical level and he seems to care way too much about Michelle and Emmett attempting to leave (escape?). Then the clues drop. While certain details suggest Howard could actually be telling the truth, or at least some version of it, he's still a controlling terror with whom sharing any kind of space is dangerous. And yet, because he's played by Goodman, there are these moments of humanity where it seems as if he's legitimately invested in their well being as if they were his offspring. Evolving into this dysfunctional family, they eat together, play board games and watch movies as if Goodman were reprising his role as Dan Connor on Roseanne. The whole thing is so oddly fascinating and atypical of what you'd expect, even as tension continues to build to a fever pitch around Howard's personal history and reasons for holding them.

After turning in impressive, overlooked work The Thing remake, small, character-driven indies like Smashed, Faults and Alex of Venice and in TV's short-lived The Returned, I've always contended that Mary Elizabeth Winstead is only about a role or two off from occupying the same spot her Academy Award-winning Scott Pilgrim co-star Brie Larson currently does. This film probably won't get her there but it still represents the latest in a long line of inspiring choices that show off a dramatic range few know she possesses. In fact, most of the film and her performance recalls the first act of Room, which only makes it that much more frustrating when this eventually deviates from that psychological template.

Michelle is caught in a desperate, hopeless situation right off the bat, and the thrill comes in watching her try to process that, read it, and determine how to react.  The wheels are always turning, as she attempts to negotiate her way out of this predicament and nearly every scene Winstead shares with Goodman carries this consequential weight that nearly suffocates you with suspense. There's a an unbearably tense scene at the dinner table when director Dan Trachtenberg milks the suspense to such a point that the payoff literally caused me to jump. Gallagher's Emmett at first seems to be a major dope blindly following Howard, until his personality and motivations start figuring into the equation in surprising ways.

Considering its title and the fact this supposedly takes place in the same universe as Cloverfield, an argument could be made that we know what we're getting into. I'll cop to that, but still doesn't make the final minutes of the film any less ridiculous, disappointing or poorly executed. The script eventually has to lay all its cards on the table and reveal whether this is a straight-up abduction or some kind of cataclysmic event has actually occurred outside and Howard's holding her there for her own protection and his. Or maybe it's some kind of combination of both. In other words, she has to eventually escape and see what's out there. We know this and it's fine. But even if you're satisfied with THE BIG REVEAL, they don't milk the moments leading up to it nearly enough or execute it with the amount of finesse necessary to justify it. Despite some defending the decision, it's simply incongruous with the tone of the rest of the picture. While I can get on board with the thematic justification and how it relates Michelle's backstory and overcoming the cycle of her abuse, that doesn't excuse involving aliens in a narrative that was fairly grounded up to that point.  

Trachtenberg, making his feature debut, does a masterful job creating a dread-fueled atmosphere, but even he's saddled with a pretty thankless task in the final minutes. He responds with the cinematic equivalent of clubbing viewers over the head multiple times. But he's really just shooting a screenplay that's gone off the rails and it's likely the writers (which includes Whiplash director Damien Chazelle) were only carrying out the wishes of J.J. Abrams or the studio, who determined it was more important to continue building a "universe" that satiates the appetites of comic-con crowds than put the proper coda on an otherwise excellent film. It appears to have been nothing more than a marketing-driven decision, and while it happens all the time, that still doesn't make it any less creatively bankrupt.

If stretching for positives in the disastrous final minutes, Winstead's performance remains strong even during this nonsense and the revelation that Howard wasn't lying casts the character's previous actions in a slightly different light, causing you to likely appreciate Goodman's performance even more on repeated viewings. But I'd argue the same exact thing could have been accomplished in half a dozen different and better ways than what they eventually went with. Since it's unfair to rag on an ending this much without offering up a reasonable alternative, it would have been far more effective to have the final 15 minutes continue to build legitimate doubt as to what exactly happened, how many people survived, whether the air is breathable, or the planet even habitable.

The few minutes Michelle has to investigate before the movie turns into a special effects circus are really good and should have been stretched longer. Then, and only then, if they want to pull the trigger on the reveal (even one as silly as this), it would at least carry greater impact and they could quickly get to the end credits to preserve the integrity of what came before. Of course, had it just been a more believable threat that matched the tone of the rest of the film there would be no need for this discussion. But that wouldn't sell tickets. That's what's so frustrating about 10 Cloverfield Lane, which for most of its running time delightfully shares as little in common as possible with its predecessor. And why it's difficult assessing how much a botched ending should be counted against the overall viewing experience. One major flaw doesn't erase everything else, but it does somehow strangely make it all mean a little less than it should.     

The Gambler (2014)

Director: Rupert Wyatt
Starring: Mark Wahlberg, John Goodman, Brie Larson, Michael K. Williams, Jessica Lange, Anthony Kelley, Alvin Ing, Emory Cohen, George Kennedy
Running Time: 111 min.
Rating: R

★★★ (out of ★★★★)  

The Gambler isn't about gambling. Nor is it necessarily about a gambler, as the protagonist doesn't even consider himself one. These are pluses since he's really bad at it and few things are less exciting to watch on screen than gambling. The film begins with such a sequence, but it's only a false alarm. The action won't be taking place at the craps tables since it's clear early that this is a character addicted to losing. He hates himself, his life, his job, and on top of it all, he's a selfish jerk who irritates just about everyone he comes in contact with, especially his own mother. With a debt finally too big to pay, he's looking at the very real possibility his days are numbered, which at least saves him the trouble of taking his own life.

There's so much to appreciate in this remake of the 1973 film starring James Caan that you can't help but root for it to cross the threshold into greatness. It's not your typical studio effort, or at least hides that it is for enough of the running time that you start to doubt its true intentions. For a significant stretch, Rise of the Planet of the Apes director Rupert Wyatt appears to throw away the rule book, instead choosing to make a dark character study about an irredeemable loser. He's the kind of doomed figure you'd find in the 70's films from which this takes its inspiration. And you really haven't seen anything until witnessing Mark Wahlberg give a Shakespeare lecture. Scenes like that and the killer soundtrack would be worth the price of admission, but luckily there are many more pleasures to be had in an effort that's gone somewhat misunderstood, though not entirely. It may slightly disappoint, but it's rarely safe and never boring.

English professor Jim Bennett (Wahlberg) has a compulsive gambling addiction that's fed by his trips to an underground ring operated by a man named, Lee (Alvin Ing), to whom he now owes $240,000. He has exactly seven days to pay it off or face certain death, which doesn't seem to bother him in the slightest. Making matters worse, he owes another $50,000 to loan shark, Neville Baraka (The Wire's Michael K. Williams), who witnessed his losing streak and actually seems to have some pity for him.

Wedged between asking his wealthy mother, Roberta (Jessica Lange) for the money or hitting up another loan shark, Frank (John Goodman), it's a toss-up who's scarier. As the seven days count down, he also forms a bond with one of his students, Amy Phillips (Brie Larson), a gifted writer who catches a glimpse into Bennett's secret world and finds herself strangely intrigued. But the clock keeps ticking for him to get the cash and clean up the mess that is his life, before someone ends it.        

If Mavis Gary from Young Adult took a job teaching at a major university, she'd be Bennett. It's just that kind of repulsive, self-loathing attitude that spews out whenever he steps in front of a class. He wrote a semi-successful novel years ago and still seems angry about it, even if it's tough to tell whether he's unhappy with the content or the fact that he wrote one. What we do know is he'd rather be anywhere else and isn't shy about expressing it, sometimes resulting in philosophical musings and humiliating public lessons for his students. He's the kind of person from which even high praise manages to come off as back-handed insults.

Three students grab his attention. There's the aforementioned Amy from Ohio who Bennett singles out as a writing prodigy because either she is, he doesn't want her spilling about his gambling activities, or he just wants to sleep with her. It may even be a combination of all three. Then there's top ranked tennis player Dexter (Emory Cohen) and NBA bound hoops star Lamar Allen (Anthony Kelley), the latter of whom is in danger of failing unless he puts away his phone in class. For sound reasons that come to light later, these lecture scenes take up a considerable amount of time and are too well-written and compelling to do anything other than completely hold your attention. Had the whole film taken place in this lecture hall, I wouldn't have complained, but there's still the matter of that debt.

As Bennett falls in deeper, he finds new ways to self-destruct and alienate everyone around him. Mid-film there's this great scene in which Amy basically propositions him to leave his job and run away with her. And there's this feeling of urgency and excitement in not being exactly sure where this story's going, regardless of anyone's familiarity with the original. While the route it takes is almost disappointingly conventional considering what's come before, the flare with which Wyattt executes it keeps us hooked, as does Wahlberg's performance as a compulsive risk-taker struggling with a real illness that's long passed the point of addiction.

Having dropped a substantial amount of weight and sporting a shaggy mop for hair, Wahlberg would seem as poor a casting choice for a college English professor as he was for a scientist running from the wind in The Happening. So it ends up being a good thing he's not even attempting to play one, but rather getting inside the head of a character more disgusted by the idea of this guy as a teacher than we are.  It's why those scenes play so well and Wahlberg deserves respect for again proving he's willing to try anything, regardless of the consequences or whether he necessarily "fits" the part on paper. Even given the critical drubbing Oscar-winning screenwriter William Monahan's (The Departed, Edge of Darkness) script received, it's understandable why Wahlberg felt couldn't pass up the opportunity to tackle such a dark, conflicted character when it was initially presented.

John Goodman may actually not be the best thing in the movie since there's still a lot more to appreciate, but he does almost walk away with his slimy, intimidating performance as Frank, whose downright scary presence casts a large shadow over the proceedings. Michael K.Williams is nearly as memorable in an entirely different way as the charismatic Neville while Jessica Lange bites into a surprisingly meaty role as Bennett's mother, who partially blames herself for his sorry state.

While Brie Larson's Amy has been criticized as merely a throwaway love interest for Bennett, a deeply developed romantic sub-plot could have curbed the refreshing sense of spontaneity the story contains. The only downside is that asking us to really care about their relationship at the end feels somewhat disingenuous as a result. The most we get to know her is in that initial classroom exchange, but it really is entertainingly written and Larson captivates as usual in the limited role, further confirming suspicions that Jennifer Lawrence probably needs to watch her back in the years ahead. And she does get the film's best musical moment, as we follow Tracy across campus with Pulp's "Common People" blasting through her ear buds. With ideally placed additional selections from Rodriguez, Ray Lamontagne and Billy Bragg as a hazy supplement to Bennett's state of mind, the soundtrack should rank near the top of anyone's list for the past year. I guess they figured Kenny Rogers would be a little too on-the-nose.    

Considering so much of what leads up to the final act doesn't make this any more a crime thriller than Ridley Scott's baffling The Counselor, it's somewhat of a disappointment that this pulls back instead of diving headfirst off a cliff, giving us the crash landing it's earned and we deserve. The funny thing about it is how certain scenes and sequences are so memorable and superbly filmed by Wyatt that it's almost frustrating that key moments surpass the total of those parts. Certain scenes stay with you and resonate, while the entire experience leaves almost as quickly as it arrives. You're never quire sure what it's trying to say because it's so deliriously crazy and moving in a bunch of directions at once.

The ending isn't nearly as nihilistic as the original's, but stylistically effective in its own right and kind of great.  You don't see this type of conclusion anymore because most filmmakers are probably too afraid it will look ridiculous. It doesn't, and that's taking into account that the groundwork wasn't even fully laid to earn it. Just think if it was. Unceremoniously dumped into theaters Christmas day, the bland marketing campaign behind The Gambler promised another thoughtless remake looking to cash in. Even taking all its problems into account, it's anything but that.
    

Inside Llewyn Davis

Directors: Joel and Ethan Coen
Starring: Oscar Isaac, Carey Mulligan, John Goodman, Garrett Hedlund, Justin Timberlake, F. Murray Abraham, Stark Sands, Adam Driver, Max Casella, Ethan Phillips
Running Time: 105 min.
Rating: R

★★★★ (out of ★★★★)

The biggest surprise about Inside Llewyn Davis is just how narrow its focus is. The title should have probably been our first clue. This is a character study to the core. And it's a difficult, challenging one we should have known was coming since it's from the Coen brothers. And that will still don't see it coming is the greatest thing about it. What's surprising is just how unconventional it is, even by their standards. Anyone expecting an overview of the early 60's Greenwich Village folk scene and spoon fed warm, fuzzy feelings of nostalgia associated that period should probably search elsewhere. Which isn't to say they don't nail the time period completely in look, sound and everything else accompanying it. There is one brush with history, and while it's a big one, it's handled so nonchalantly that it hardly draws attention to itself. The Coens have nothing to prove. No one to impress. They just know exactly what they're doing, even when we haven't the slightest clue. Sometimes it's best to just trust the audience to figure things out.

Despite its subject being loosely based on late folk singer Dave Van Ronk (and his posthumously published 2005 memoir, The Mayor of MacDougal Street) this isn't Van Ronk biopic. That his ex-wife has criticized the film for being untruthful or inaccurate makes little sense considering it's not about him. By all accounts, Van Ronk was a well-liked guy with few (or any) of the problems this protagonist deals with. It's the trajectory of his career that provides the inspiration more than anything else. He's the jumping off point. Fame may have eluded him, but he wasn't a failure. Inside Llewyn Davis is all about failure and what it means. Or rather how thin the line separating failure and success can be. There were many more Dave Van Ronks than Bob Dylans, which makes one wonder if some strange combination of luck, opportunity, skill, timing or motivation caused the former to fade into obscurity while the latter became a legend? The film doesn't attempt to make sense of that because you can't. The Coens wisely choose not to try, and by doing that, somehow do.  

At one point Llewyn Davis (Oscar Isaac) is told, rather pointedly, that he doesn't have the innate charisma or connection with the audience to ever become a successful solo act in the business. It's clearer to us even earlier that he just might not have the ability to connect with people at all in any capacity. Llewyn was one half of a semi-popular folk duo with musical partner, Mike Timlin (sung by Mumford and Sons' Marcus Mumford), who killed himself jumping off the George Washington Bridge. At this rate, he's headed in the same direction, with his life stuck in an endless loop of mooching off friends who probably should have stopped tolerating him a while ago. What's saddest and darkly comical about the situation is how talented he actually is and how little that seems to matter.

The film's opening, in which he sings a gut-wrenching rendition of "Hang Me, Oh Hang Me" at the Gaslight wins us over immediately, and we'll stay on his side even as it's clear later the lengths he'll go to squander that potential. His manager isn't paying him. His sister hates him. And now he's stuck with an orange cat belonging to his friends the Gorfeins, whose Upper West Side apartment he's just crashed at. But his most fractured relationship is with folk singer and ex-flame Jean (Carey Mulligan), who he impregnated in spite of her being married to good friend Jim (Justin Timberlake). Short on money and with a solo recording deal far out of reach, Llewyn has to choose between what he considers "selling out" to pursue a music career, or abandoning it altogether. What's so tragicomic is how he somehow finds a way to royally screw up both options. He's just one of those guys where nothing he does seems to go right no matter how hard he tries. And, admittedly, he isn't even trying very hard since he doesn't care, or maybe cares a little too much, with very few definitive actions backing it up.

It's one hilarious catastrophe after the next that leads him to desperately take Timberlake's Jim up on his invitation to join he and Al Cody (Adam Driver) to record a goofy, folk-pop song called "Please, Mr. Kennedy." A lot has already been said and written about the scene and song being the film's defining (and funniest) moment, and it is, but it's interesting to look at it from the perspective of what qualified as embarrassingly bad commercial music that appealed to the masses in the early '60's. The real irony might be that the ridiculously catchy, borderline brilliant song is about ten times better than anything that would even pass as legitimately good pop music today. It really isn't bad, but the performances from the three actors as they discuss and prepare to deliver it in the scene's context makes it seem like the silliest song ever written. In any other context, it's amazing. But Llewyn is truly mortified having to perform it, before unintentionally sabatoging what could have been his only big payout with a lack of business acumen.

As much action that takes place in a time specific New York, the strangest section of the film actually occurs on the way to Chicago, as Llewyn hitches a ride with a James Dean-like beat poet named Johnny Five (Garrett Hedlund) and his passenger, the cranky, belligerent jazz musician Roland Turner (John Goodman, in top form), who spends the entire road trip hurling insults and telling nonsensical stories. I'm guessing this is the place where the movie probably loses a lot of perplexed audience members, but anyone familiar with the Coens work will instantly recognize it as the most Coen-like part of this whole absurd, but strangely moving adventure that's brimming at the rim with eccentric characters.

The casting of Oscar Isaac was a masterstroke because we don't really know who he is and doesn't bring the baggage a bigger, more established name would. Watching him as Llewyn is like seeing (and of course listening) to him for the first time, since few are likely to even recognize the actor from his supporting roles in movies like Drive. He's the star of the show playing a depressed character who lacks the charisma and drive to ever be the star of the show. Think how difficult that must be. And yet, against all odds, he manages to make this selfish, angry guy completely likable every step of the way. There wasn't a moment I wasn't rooting for him to pull out of this rut, even as the chances of that continue to diminish with each passing disaster. And boy can Isaac ever sing. I'd say he should release a folk album but he already did. It's the soundtrack to this movie which, top to bottom, feels like a legitimate folk release from the early '60's. Everyone in this does their own singing with famed producer T-Bone Burnett again turning in revelatory work by seamlessly replicating the music of the period.

In a way, it also feels like we're discovering the better known Carey Mulligan for the first time since seeing her play a morose, angry character who curses like a sailor would seem about a thousand paces removed for her if not for the added layer of vulnerability she infuses her with. Timberlake, as usual, proves there are few limits to what he can do as a performer in any medium, as it's unlikely anyone suspected he'd be able to believably portray one half of a folk duo with Mulligan and that they'd look and sound so authentic.

"Play me something from Inside Llewyn Davis," requests record producer Bud Grossman (F. Murray Abraham) when the singer arrives to meet him in Chicago. Llewyn responds by pouring his heart out with the beautifully depressing "The Death of Queen Jane," an eerily appropriate song selection given his current state. It's only upon reflection that this becomes the most important scene of the film, likely stinging quite a bit for anyone who's suffered for their art, been judged, or faced the pain of rejection. So basically everyone. Ultimately, does it matter whether this producer thinks there's any "money" in this? Are his criticisms valid or is he just on a power trip at Llewyn's expense? One could argue that if he truly had the passion and fire in his belly to see this through then it wouldn't have mattered to him one bit what this producer thought. If he loved making music he wouldn't he continue doing it, even if it meant temporarily finding another means of income? That's the big question mark. His talent is not.

A big fuss has been made by some about how a big a jerk this character is, but so was Bob Dylan, and we liked him. So that can't be it. History is written by the winners, even if the losers are often losers for a reason. Llewyn isn't quite as unlikable as he's been accused, or even as unlikable as some of the other characters he shares this Greenwich Village universe with. He's just badly floundering. Defeated by life and himself. The film's ending (which I won't dare spoil here) almost seems like a cruel (but wickedly hilarious) cosmic joke, reminding us that sometimes it really is only about being at the right place at the right time. And a bunch of other cards lining up just right. None of them have for this guy, partially by his own doing. The film does this loopy thing with time, folding over on itself and suggesting he may never break out of this cycle, opening up what was a relatively simple story for a variety of differing interpretations.

Admittedly it takes a while for this whole experience to settle in because there's so much more going on than first appears on the surface and I'm still not sure I've processed all of it. That final scene is a real zinger. We like to be on the winning team and watching movies about success make us feel good. But the few movies made about failure usually end up being deeper and more interesting. There are a limited number of ways to achieve, but no bounds to the amount of seemingly improbable ways someone can't. Llewyn Davis has most of them covered, and in showing that, the Coens give us exactly the '60's folk film we didn't know we wanted, or even necessarily deserved.

Flight

Director: Robert Zemeckis
Starring: Denzel Washington, Kelly Reilly, Don Cheadle, Bruce Greenwood, John Goodman, Melissa Leo, Nadine Velazquez, Brian Geraghty, James Badge Dale
Running Time: 138 min.
Rating: R

★★★ ½ (out of ★★★★)

Remember that last section in Cast Away when Tom Hanks finally makes it home and is faced with the trauma of seeing how life just went on without him? His girlfriend's now married with kids. He's sleeping on the floor with a volleyball. That third act made the movie for me. It would have been so easy to stop and just call it a win when he got off the island, but director Robert Zemeckis just kept plowing through, knowing full well that the story was just starting and it would have been criminal to deprive viewers of at least a piece. Now with Flight, he's made an entire film about it. The script begins where most movies end, using its entire running time to explore an aftermath and dispense fascinating details we're unaccustomed to getting.

The happy ending comes first, or so it seems. Facing massive equipment failure and diving fast, Airline captain William "Whip" Whitaker (Denzel Washington) rolls SouthJet flight 227 upside down before crash landing in a field outside Atlanta, saving almost all the 102 passengers and crew on board. The only problem: He was drunk and high on cocaine after having spent the night with a flight attendant (Nadine Velasquez). That his condition didn't cause the crash (we think) is one of the screenplay's most creative touches since going that route would have been way too easy and a lot less morally complicated. In fact, the film's quite clear in presenting the notion that there's a better than great chance no other pilot, sober or not, would have known what to do in that situation, much less been able to execute it. If not for Whip, everyone would likely be dead. The bad news is that six people still are, and he and the airline have to answer for it.

At its core, Flight is really an exploration of addiction and guilt. If an event like this can't get someone to stop drinking and using drugs, what can? For Whip the downward spiral is just starting. A deadbeat dad in full denial about the severity of his problem, he miraculously walks away from the crash with minor injuries, only to turn on the news and discover he's a hero. What's strange is that he mostly is. But the NTSB's investigation is heating up and the toxicology reports are coming in. His biggest ally in the battle is an old buddy named Charlie Anderson (Bruce Greenwood), a pilots union rep. Joining him is criminal attorney Hugh Lang (Don Cheadle), whose soften-spoken demeanor belies the fact that he's great at what he does and works tirelessly to keep Whip out of jail. They really want to help but he's having nothing of it, instead hiding out at his parents' abandoned farmhouse and drowning his sorrows in a bottle. His enters a complicated relationship with a heroin addict named Nicole (Kelly Reilly), whom he meets at the hospital and is trying to turn her life around following a near-fatal overdose.

I've probably already revealed too much, as the rest of the film is full of tiny details concerning the fallout from the crash and how those involved with it (directly or indirectly) view Whip's responsibility in it, which is anything but cut and dry. You can only imagine the amount of aviation research Oscar nominated screenwriter John Gatins had to put in to make sure all those details came out right and the work Zemeckis had to do the insure the crash at the beginning has the emotional impact it does. We've seen a lot of terrifying plane crashes on film but this is the first to literally take us inside the cockpit and give us a feel for what it must be like for the pilot and co-pilot when all possible options have been exhausted. And for the passengers certain they're all going to die and appear to be right.

Oscar nominated Denzel Washington gives one of most affecting performances in years as a tortured addict caught in a web of his own lies.Whip knows his silence is morally, if not criminally, reprehensible but he's too consumed by his own demons and false pride to admit a problem, much less accept help. What's most shocking is just how much damage it takes for him to get there, with Washington providing unflinching insight into how addiction grabs hold and doesn't let go, practically writing a person out of their own life. Matching him scene-for-scene in her first major co-starring role is relatively unknown English actress Kelly Reilly, who in addition to pulling off a really credible southern accent, is altogether heartbreaking as a junkie torn between trying to turn her own life around and salvaging whatever relationship she has with this total stranger. In a crowded year full of great female supporting turns, hers still stands out out from the pack, making it a bit of a mystery that she really hasn't been recognized for it.

The film is also filled to the brim with scene stealing cameos, the most memorable of which coming from John Goodman, who couldn't be more entertainingly insane as Whip's hippie best friend and drug dealer Harling Mays. His two appearances make a big enough impact that he even gets his own entrance music. Then there's James Badge Dale as a philosophical cancer patient who's either a twisted genius or has just watched too many episodes of Lost. He has only a single scene that can't be spoiled, but it's the film's because of his disturbing brilliance in it. Melissa Leo doesn't play the NTSB official as the villain she could have been, but instead as a fair, intelligent woman asking all the right questions to get to the truth. It's hard to dislike her. The same could be said for Cheadle's attorney, who at first appears to be a pushover but ends being tougher and more determined than anyone expects, even as he's constantly pushed away by his own client. We want to root for him because he's technically and legally right about the crash's cause but the means he uses to make his case are questionable. There are so many grey areas here, but none greyer than the situation involving Whip's co-pilot, well played by Brian Geraghty. When we finally do hear his take on what happened up there, that powerful scene definitely doesn't disappoint.

As we get closer to to the moment of truth for Whip, it's clear things can only end one of two ways. Dark or darker. Neither outcome can in any way be viewed as a win for the protagonist, though one is decidedly less bleak for the audience. The story is the very definition of hitting rock bottom and it's easily the edgiest, darkest thing Zemeckis has ever done. But most will just be happy that he's gone back to directing live-action, at least temporarily abandoning the motion capture CGI silliness he's been dabbling in with clunkers like Beowulf and A Christmas Carol. This picture demonstrates in full why that career diversion was so upsetting and he should have taken those complaints as a compliment. His real gift has always been in telling distinctly human stories and it's great to see the visual effects used more sparingly and effectively in helping to further that. A nearly two and a half hour, R-rated character study about an addict is probably the last thing anyone expected from the director of Back to the Future and Forrest Gump, but it couldn't have possibly been a more welcome departure. Leaving you with a lot to consider and never taking the easy way out, Flight ends up being anything but predictable.

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.

Argo

Director: Ben Affleck
Starring: Ben Affleck, Bryan Cranston, Alan Arkin, John Goodman, Tate Donovan, Clea DuVall, Scoot McNairy, Christopher Denham, Kerry Bishe, Rory Cochrane, Victor Garber, Kyle Chandler
Running Time: 120 min.
Rating: R

★★★ ½ (out of ★★★★)

The first ten minutes of Argo are so exciting and suspenseful it's almost impossible believe it all actually happened. But it did. Of course, how closely the events depicted on screen match what really unfolded will be subject to debate, as is always the case whenever a film is "based on a true story." As far as political, Oscar friendly topics like this go, you'd be hard-pressed to find anything that fits the mold as well as the one director Ben Affleck covers in his most assured outing behind the camera yet. That George Clooney co-produced this is of little surprise since Affleck feels like this year's Clooney, starting out as a star struggling to be taken seriously as an actor and eventually earning that respect by now only directing and starring in projects he believes in.

Fully deserving every bit of praise it's gotten, his film is bookended by two thrilling sequences, the latter so tense it's almost unbearable to watch, actually drawing applause in the theater when it concluded. And that's despite us knowing how this ends. At first glance it looks like a fine, if completely by the book, point A to point B type of biographical drama/thriller, but upon closer inspection it's clear there's a lot more going on beneath the surface. Intelligent and well-made, it seems like the type of film easier to respect and admire than outright love, but I was surprised just how much I loved it. And given the tricky ground it covers, that certainly wasn't a foregone conclusion.

The film tells the story of a mission that until 1997 was kept classified. When the U.S. Embassy in Iran was stormed by militants in November, 1979 for sheltering the deposed and recently ailing Shah, more than 50 embassy staffers were taken hostage. Six escaped, hiding in the home of the Canadian Ambassador as CIA agent Tony Mendez (Affleck) and his boss Jack O'Donnell (Bryan Cranston) are brought in to come up with a game plan for getting them out. Mendez makes a call to his old friend, Hollywood make-up artist John Chambers (John Goodman), who recruits legendary, but washed-up producer Lester Siegel (Alan Arkin) to conceive a fake science fiction fantasy movie called Argo, that will shoot in Iran.

The plan is for Mendez to pose as the fake film's producer, and with phony passports and identities, sneak the six escapees back to the U.S. as members of his production crew. They go so far as to actually write a script, take out real ads in Variety and pretend to scout out locations to pull off a ruse that just might be crazy enough to work, especially given the recent success of a little movie called Star Wars. But due to the potential embarrassment if it fails, the plan could be too crazy and dangerous for the government to get behind, putting Mendez's entire mission at risk. There's also the enormous obstacle of successfully prepping the six escapees and managing to safely get them past airport security. Already limited in options, if Mendez attempts to go through with this, there's a good possibility they all could die. If he doesn't try, they definitely will.

That this never manages to feel like a historical recitation while being so fully entrenched in history during its two-hour running time is quite an accomplishment. Even the actual newsreel footage is incorporated in an exciting way that feels organic enough to the story that it's sometimes indistinguishable from the filmed scenes. There's something to be said for telling a fact based, true life story in a no-nonsense, straightforward manner that's free of emotional fat or needless editorializing.You can thank Affleck for this as the pacing, editing, production design, cinematography, and musical choice are all so spot-on, yet lack the showboating flare that can unnecessarily draw attention to them. Because of that, it's possible more casual moviegoers could be shaking their heads wondering what all the fuss and awards attention is about. This isn't to imply they don't "get it" or come off as a stuffy film snob since that reaction most closely mirrors my own immediately after it ended.

Much reflection isn't necessary to recognize the attributes in every aspect of this project from top to bottom, brimming to the rim with scenes that don't so easily leave your mind. Even more unusual is a director executing so invisibly well and with such an objective eye that it doesn't even seem like anything's being done. Then, before you know it, it's over. That it is very much being done, and milked for such great suspense, at the service of what's essentially a biographical procedural, is even more impressive. It's one of those technically gifted films (a lot like the Clooney-starring Michael Clayton) that comes out looking clean as a whistle after you slide it down the conveyor belt and inspect for flaws.

If there's one thing that does attract attention, it's a production and costume design that's so 1970's it's almost impossible not to stare in disbelief or even maybe laugh out loud. That's not at all a flaw, but rather an exposure to our ignorance of just how silly the fashion and styles were back then. I don't doubt the period detail is completely spot-on and a separate documentary could probably be made about Affleck's shaggy helmet of hair which seems to enter each scene five minutes before he does. Yet this only adds to the authenticity of the proceedings, as it genuinely feels like we're being transported to another time in a way that few historical dramas have successfully pulled off as well. 

This is a really loaded cast, but again, in such a subtle way that you might not realize just how many great roles are afforded to some of the best, most under-valued character actors currently working in TV and film. That Affleck is a fan of them and thought enough to give each a showcase in the right capacity speaks to his intuition and integrity as a craftsman. Perhaps no choice speaks to that more than the casting of Bryan Cranston in a semi-huge role as Mendez's superior, O' Donnell, who appears at first only to dispense and receive information until events change course and his character has to re-adjust on the spot. What he does and how he does it is surprising, and will be even to those with knowledge of how these events unfolded.

There's also Victor Garber as Canadian Ambassador Taylor, Kyle Chandler as Carter's Chief of Staff Hamilton Jordan, and also a slew of brief, but entirely functional appearances from Chris Messina, Titus Welliver, Bob Gunton, Clea DuVall and Zeljko Ivanek sprinkled throughout. As one of the six escapees, the long underrated Tate Donovan gets a chance to step up and shine as the defacto leader of the group. If an Oscar category was ever instituted for best ensemble, Argo would have it in the bag as its difficult recalling a cast as meticulously assembled and well utilized as this.

Despite their top billing, it's ironically Alan Arkin and the great John Goodman who leave the tiniest impressions, with the former doing another variation on his "grumpy old man" routine while the latter seems to be the only key supporting player slightly marginalized by Chris Terrio's script. There's also a clever joke involving the fake movie's title that's funny the first time, but less so after five or six, as if they just wanted to make sure we got it. But that's a small nitpick. And for all praise Affleck's received behind the lens, his work in front of it this time out hasn't gotten nearly the attention it's deserved as it could be the most quietly effective performance he's ever given, playing a man torn between following orders and doing what he knows is right. In either case, Mendez is playing chicken with everyone's lives.

I fear Arkin will be nominated for this when a far more deserving performance is given from a mustachioed Scoot McNairy as cynical escapee Joe Stafford, who isn't the slightest bit interested in cooperating with Mendez's risky plan and is more than willing to stand his ground. The character could have easily come across as just a stubborn jerk, or worse, a plot contrivance, but McNairy plays him as being aggravated and petrified for he and his wife Kathy's (Kerry Bishe) safety. He brings up legitimate holes in the plan and an argument can even be made that every objection he has is completely correct. Unfortunately, the only other alternative is staying there and waiting for certain death. He has a scene in the last act that simply defies description, so ratcheted with tension it causes you to hold your breath until it's over. It's clearly the moment when political implications of the entire situation collide head-on with the universal effect movies can have as a means of communication between cultures.

In a cast like this it's difficult to stand out, but McNairy does, much like the film, by not standing out and just doing his job expertly. So much so that if I I have a complaint it's that the time spent with Mendez cutting through bureaucractic red tape may have been better spent with the escapees, but considering these office scenes often play like a cross between All The President's Men and Zodiac, that's a very small quibble. Criticisms by some that Canada's role in the mission is downplayed seem silly when at one point it's made perfectly clear through actual footage the extent of their involvement was and how they were eventually credited. Given that this entire situation was essentially a huge cover-up anyway, it keeps in the spirit of true events that the movie wouldn't put heavy focus on Canada's cooperation. Not to mention it's just par the course for adjustments to be made so that true events can be streamlined into a cohesive two-hour narrative.

It's almost too obvious to compare Affleck's creative transformation to Clooney's, so it might be more accurate to point out that he's simply completed his transformation into Ben Affleck, fulfilling (if not exceeding) his full potential as a director and actor. After this, the sky really seems to be the limit in terms of what he can do, having gone even a step further than Clooney in not only taking inspiration from the paranoid thrillers of the 70's, but actually setting one in that time period based on actual events. To call this his Syriana or Good Night, and Good Luck. wouldn't be far off, except it's better realized, taking what could have come off as a dry history lecture in lesser hands and molding and shaping it into suspenseful, first-class entertainment. It's become a running joke that the last two or three months of the year are reserved for smart, sophisticated dramas aimed at adults. If only that were a joke. After watching something like this I wonder how some critics aren't tempted to just take the first ten months of moviegoing off and show up now. Luckily though, Argo was more than worth the wait. 

The Artist

Director: Michel Hazanavicius
Starring: Jean Dujardin, Berenice Bejo, Uggie, John Goodman, James Cromwell, Missi Pyle, Penelope Ann Miller, Malcolm McDowell, Beth Grant
Running Time: 100 min.
Rating: PG-13
 
★★★ ½ (out of ★★★★)
 
The exact moment when The Artist becomes really interesting arrives when silent film star George Valentin (Jean Dujardin) puts down a glass and it actually makes a sound. Up until then it's the first noise we hear other than the film's bouncy musical score. Then his dog Jack (Uggie) barks. Actresses walk by giggling. Valentin screams in frustration but he can't make a sound as the whole sequence plays out like a scene from The Twilight Zone. This nightmare quickly becomes reality for Valentin as Kinograph Studios' boss Al Zimmer (John Goodman) announces that the advent of "talkies" have led to them halting production on silent films and his services are no longer needed. Watching, it's hard not to think of actors being replaced by computer graphics and motion capture in an age of 3D technology, older actresses being marginalized in an industry that worships youth and, of course, the current economic crisis. Despite the old fashioned approach, it's surprising just how fresh and relevant it all seems, and while it's frequently funny, it's also a bit deeper than you'd expect. 

It's out with the old and in with the new as Valentin suddenly finds himself out of work, replaced with a new generation of fresh faces at Kinograph. The freshest is Peppy Miller (Berenice Bejo) an energetic young actress accidentally discovered by Valentin at one of his premieres. As the stock market crashes in 1929 and The Great Depression hits, her star rises fast while he's forced to finance his own silent films, which flop. Kicked out by his wife Doris (Penelope Ann Miller) he's forced to declare bankruptcy, auction off all his belongings and even fire his loyal valet Clifton (James Cromwell). Other than his dog, the one willing to help is Peppy, if only Valentin can somehow swallow his pride and let her before he hits rock bottom.

The big question is whether the film would attract this much attention if it wasn't silent and in black and white, but that's mostly irrelevant since director Michel Hazanavicius didn't just take any old material and tell it in this style for kicks. It's about a specific era and technology and he's using that technology to tell the story it so it can hardly be considered a gimmick. There is sound aside from Ludovic Bource's score (which drew some controversy for incorporating a portion of Bernard Herrmann's work from Hitchcock's Vertigo) but it's carefully placed at key moments related to the story, making its impact that much greater. It's not every day you see get to see a contemporary silent film on the big screen so it does take a couple of minutes to get used to the somewhat jarring effect of seeing contemporary actors in this setting.

You could only imagine the effect if the actors were huge, recognizable names so its helps American audiences are relatively unfamiliar with Dujardin and Bejo and the rest of the cast is rounded out with solid supporting players like Goodman, Miller (who shares a great Citizen Kane-inspired breakfast scene with Dujardin), Missi Pyle, James Cromwell and Malcolm McDowell. All actors who can slide into any environment, a useful skill here in contributing to the feeling we're actually watching a movie from that era.With no dialogue there's added pressure on the acting, so with his matinee idol looks that recall Clark Gable or Douglas Fairbanks, Dujardin's not only a perfect physical match for the part, he tells the entire story on his face and with his movements. At one point, Valentin's silent movie acting is disparagingly referred to as "mugging" which is funny considering what Dujardin does here is anything but. You'll gain a new appreciation of how screen acting so often transcends dialogue and the best moments in a screenplay can be found in between the lines, brought to life by the actor.

It's somewhat ironic Dujardin's competing against George Clooney in the Best Actor race considering that he's essentially playing a suicidal version of Clooney if he were exiled from the industry and lost everything. Given Valentin's movie star charisma and nice guy likability it's too tempting not to draw the comparison. Bejo is charming, lighting up the scenes she shares with Dujardin, as well as all the ones she doesn't. And as someone who always has trouble winking, I could also appreciate she has one the best winks I've ever seen. But the most memorable performance just might come from Uggie the dog, the Jack Russell Terrier who seems to display a whole range of emotions that go way beyond merely performing tricks and being obedient. He makes a good case for an honorary animal Oscar.

This runs 100 minutes and that's just enough. Any longer would have felt too long, but the highest compliment just might be that anyone uninterested in silent films would lose themselves in the story without realizing they were watching one. Say what you want about the Academy Awards, but they rarely ever nominate garbage. How this holds up will be determined by time, which hasn't been kind to Best Picture winners in the past. But at least it'll still be fun to see the stunned looks on people's faces years later when they're told the year this was released. The movie doesn't feel like a dated relic from a bygone era and tackles nostalgia on a deeper level than Woody Allen's far slighter Midnight in Paris by actually exploring what it's about. As the biggest silent star of the '20's, Valentin thinks he's untouchable and this sound thing is just a fad, an idea that can almost be considered as crazy as releasing a silent black and white film in 2011. But it's not much the idea that Hazanavicius could do this that's crazy, but rather that any studio would agree to release it and expect success. The Artist is a lot of things, but safe isn't one of them.

Evan Almighty

Director: Tom Shadyac
Starring: Steve Carell, Morgan Freeman, Lauren Graham, John Goodman, Wanda Sykes, John Michael Higgins, Jonah Hill
Running Time: 90 min.
Rating: PG

** (out of ****)

The two biggest laughs to be found in Evan Almighty are both unintentional. The first comes early when Jonah Hill appears onscreen...in a suit. I'm not sure why that's so funny, and it probably shouldn't be, but it is. The second comes at the very end when we find out where this film's $175 million dollar budget went with a special effects sequence so ridiculously large in scope it makes Titanic and The Lord of The Rings look like low budget indies in comparison. Kind of a sequel to Jim Carrey's 2003 comedy hit Bruce Almighty, this is a film that's just kind of there. It isn't spectacularly bad, but is poorly written and packs too much nonsense into its scant running time.

Kids may enjoy it as there are some lively performances and occasional laughs sprinkled about, but everyone else will be bored. It is a movie the entire family can watch together because it contains a good message, but one delivered so sloppily it's nearly impossible to get behind. That it comes from the same writer and director team that brought us the original is perplexing because the plot line has absolutely nothing to do with that film (which was no great shakes itself). Credit Carrey for being wise in sitting this one out. He's replaced by the very talented Steve Carell (The 40-Year-Old-Virgin, TV's The Office) who provided the biggest laughs in the first film in his small role as anchorman Evan Baxter. His streak of winning comedies comes to a screaching halt here.

To say Carell's Baxter returns in this film wouldn't be completely accurate since the filmmakers have ignored the egotistical jerk he was in the first film and turned him into a caring family man who's just been elected to Congress. He packs up with his wife Joan (Lauren Graham) and three sons to Virginia, moving into a neighborhood that's literally in the middle of nowhere. It's very strange. There appears to be one street, one house (theirs), and no civilization for miles. Their house looks like it was just randomly dropped in the middle of a field, almost resembling the model home on Arrested Development. Just when Evan starts getting chummy with a political bigwig in Congressmen Long (John Goodman) God (Morgan Freeman, inexplicably back for more) shows up and instructs Evan to build an ark in preparation for a giant flood. Lumber start to show up at his house, animals flock to him, his facial hair grows at an uncontrollable rate, and for reasons unbeknownst to anyone but writer Steve Oedekerk, he goes insane.

All of this provides ample opportunity for Carell to show us what he's got and he doesn't disappoint. With his laid back charm and gift for physical comedy he can really carry a movie (even a bad one) and his performance prevents Evan Almighty from being a total disaster. Unfortunately though, his committed effort isn't enough to elevate the trite material. What laughs do exist are nearly all supplied by Wanda Sykes as Evan's secretary, as if Oedekirk sat down at his computer and made a concerted effort to give her every good line in the film. The story limps along at a snail's pace until about the last 30 minutes where it becomes minimally fun to see everyone's (particularly Sikes') reaction to Evan's sudden lifestyle change. Unfortunately we're also tortured by a manufactured marital crisis and a silly environmental subplot involving Goodman's evil Congressman so heavy-handed it could have been written by Al Gore.

While it's always a pleasure seeing the underrated Goodman onscreen, it isn't one seeing him in a one-dimensional fathead role like this. Part of me wondered if he was cast as Congressman Chuck Long as some kind of an inside jab at his television portrayal of controversial Louisiana Governor Huey P. Long over a decade ago. That my thoughts actually shifted to this useless bit of information during the film can't be a good sign. Lauren Graham is a pretty and likeable actress who deserves a co-starring role in a big film like this and does what she can with the suffering wife character she's saddled with. There's a point in the third act where she just packs up the kids and leaves. Why? If I had to guess I'd say it's because Oedekirk had to create false crisis so she could go running back to into Evan's arms for our happy ending.

In addition to the film's blatantly transparent political agenda, it's also overtly religious, dropping references to Genesis 6:14 and preaching about random acts of kindness. That didn't bother me at all since it's rare a family movie actually sends a good message to children, but it calls unwanted attention to itself and feels like a big letdown since the first film had much more of an edge to it.

Religious beliefs notwithstanding, the only thing likely to offend anyone about this movie is how poorly thought out it was. That's never more obvious than in the huge CGI sequence at the end of the film, so overblown and fake looking it can't help but feel completely incongruous with not only every scene preceding it, but the movie's entire message. Evan Almighty has its heart in the right place and a quality film was buried under this material, but it just collapses under the weight of its own ambitions. It's proof that $175 million can buy you big special effects but a good script is priceless.