Breaking Bad (S.2)

Continuing its story with its great premise and great acting, the second season of "Breaking Bad" re-asserted the show's strengths. Splitting its time essentially between chemistry teacher turned meth dealer Walter White and his associate Jesse Pinkman, the second season at nearly double the length of the first allowed for long ruminations of Walter's mindset and the man at heart. Pinkman, the perpetual fuck-up is fleshed out here as a sad case, and one whom we would like to see Walter rescue. Also worthy of a mention, Dean Norris as Walter's brother-in-law Hank Schrader (a D.E.A. agent) is wonderfully humanized in his own arc within season two. In a series of cool and brisk set-ups, the term 'suspenseful' applies to each and every one of the episodes. "Breaking Bad" is a great television show, and this season only solidifies that classification. Despite a finale that is practically bad, 12 other, impeccable, earlier episodes don't deserve to be judged under that singular lens.
Breaking Bad (S.2): ★★★1/2

Breaking Bad (S.1)

An 00's show at its core, "Breaking Bad" has all of the markings: a main character who engages in morally questionable acts, some fine acting across the board, and (like many of its counterparts) heavily influenced by the suspenseful structure of "The Sopranos". Led by Bryan Cranston in a great performance, chemistry teacher Walt White, upon learning of his inoperable lung cancer, turns to cooking meth as a means of paying for his treatments and for the wellbeing of his family after his death. Based in Albuquerque (and making good use of that location), Walt teams up with a past student who's in the business named Jesse (Aaron Paul). Turns out, the overqualified teacher Walt makes the finest, purest meth known, and his product is briskly coveted by junkies across New Mexico. Jesse and Walt run into a ton of problems, as is inevitable, and most of the first season consists of their attempts to rectify a specific problem that is set up in episode one. The subtleties of their mistakes which are questioned at the time, joyously turn up in future episodes, and it adds a certain realism to the show which is appreciated. Well-written, well acted, and occasionally riveting, "Breaking Bad" adds to the list of great shows in its league on tv (especially similar to Showtime's "Dexter".
Breaking Bad (S.1): ★★★1/2

Valhalla Rising

From Nicholas Winding Refn, director of this year's exemplary DRIVE, came VALHALLA RISING, a tale mired in sometimes unnecessary stylistic gestures, and a quasi-historical starting point. In mountainous, foggy terrain, a hell-like world brews. An unnamed man with one eye is prisoner to a group of apparently nordic men. Some men dress in heavy garments, but this lowly slave is left only a few scraps of clothing. He is watched over and caged, taken around the country as a sort of dogfighting tough. He speaks not a word (a similarity between this feature and DRIVE), but his face is one of charisma, and Refn's direction allows for quick bursts of passionate violence from One-Eye (who is played by Mads Mikkelsen). One-Eye, and a young boy who exclusively has some control over him, eventually free themselves from the slave-owners, and venture out into hell in a series of "parts" specified by Refn. One-Eye and the boy eventually discover a few zealous crusaders (few in number) who lead them to a ghostly ship, which drifts off quite far from the desired destination, Jerusalem, and ends up in the New World. We have all heard stories (and seen movies) of New World discovery, but VALHALLA RISING does it in a unique fashion. One-Eye, our source for solid character, is himself baffled in his attempt to make sense of the New World. He discovers that even his own brand of brawn is not enough, and Refn's direction makes VALHALLA RISING a surprisingly slow, spooky film with a lot of great action. The film has its flaws: Refn is occasionally unwieldy with the cast-over look of his film, and it makes the movie seem "cast-over" just to be cast-over, and not for any real reason. Despite this, VALHALLA RISING is a good film.
Valhalla Rising: ★★★

Buried

Unintentionally a response to Danny Boyle's 127 HOURS (this one features a severed finger, an enclosed space, a single character), the sadly trash-labelled Ryan Reynolds vessel BURIED is a cynical piece of good filmmaking with a bad message. The film opens to darkness, and then the flickers of a lighter (the first of many various ways to light the small space). Ryan Reynolds' clichéd, stubble infested face comes into view, and we learn that he is just a mere truck driver in Iraq, kidnapped after an attack, and buried alive in a coffin. Searching around, Reynolds' Paul Conroy discovers only a few small items to assist him: a zippo lighter and a blackberry. The blackberry miraculously (one of the films problems is miraculous circumstances) has power (only half of the battery left) and Paul begins to call various people who he thinks could assist him. this venture carries on for about half an hour, riveting in simultaneous realizations that a) we are riveted by a film that takes place with one character in the dark in a space about 3x6ft, and b) the ridiculous lengths that Paul has to go through to get help. Things start to happen though, and Paul is finally connected tot he voice of a hostage specialist. Spanish director Rodgrigo Cortés does a very good job at finding things to happen within his limitations, and the film is very well made. However, it suffers from a cynicism and a grim insistence to make bad things keep happening that is ugly in any film. Too many half-statements and fearful quasi-anti-americanisms hinder BURIED from being the anti-film to the overly distractive and extremely fearful 127 HOURS, but it is still entertaining and (for a very long time) very fun.
Buried: ★★★

Devil

It sets itself up like a John Carpenter film from the 70's: building an odd cast, steely motions, and hidden violence in movement. Underneath an upturned world (perhaps too obvious a metaphor), and with a constant Christian superstitious undertone, a towering building in Philadelphia on a stormy day feeds some storytelling voiceover of a minor character. In this building, a few people attempt to enter an elevator. It's too full, and they wait for another, entering one by one until there are five. The elevator stalls, and the five are stuck together inside. This could work as some psychological play set-up, but the stormy skies and steely movements warn of a different tale. A security guard watching the events take place on camera tells us of the devil, who is a devious creature who doesn't give mercy. People start to get hurt inside of the elevator, and the police are called in, headed by a damaged detective. What is happening in the elevator is unknown, but we seem to know that one of the people inside is responsible for the events. Half detective story outside of the elevator, half ghost / slasher inside the elevator, DEVIL is a perfectly respectable, if not forgettable, piece of short, crisp, and problematic cinema.
Devil: ★★★

Paradise Lost: The Child Murders at Robin Hood Hills

So 90's in camera style, detached documentary work, and uncanny subject divulgence due to the still new mass-television-audience medium. Joe Berlinger and Bruce Sinofsky direct, admittedly for HBO, in the small town of West Memphis, Arkansas. The people are trash, obsessed with the idea of satanism, which has seeped into their consciousness with television. 3 boys, Michael Moore, Christopher Byers, and Stephen Branch, in 1993, were brutally killed in, or near the forest. Their deaths and mutilated bodies, were attributed to satanic killings, the parents angry as hell (understandably), but, as it is, too eager to see any justice rather than real justice. Sinofsky and Berlinger have astonishing access. Not only into the families of the deceased, but into the subsequent trials that took place afterwards. Police, eager to place blame, sought out the weirdos in town. These were: mentally retarded Jesse Miskelly, Jr. (forced to confess under duress), 16 year old Jason Baldwin, and the supposed ringleader, Damien Echols. The three were bastardized by the townspeople, and put on trial to no evidence, emotion, and hearsay. Berlinger and Sinofsky have an  intent here: to show an injustice, and simultaneously, they craft the picture of an uneducated mass of people as fascinated by satanism as they are ignorant of the power of the camera. The following documentaries by the documentary duo exhibit even more of this truth, and its gradual realization.
Paradise Lost: The Child Murders at Robin Hood Hills: ★★★1/2

The Decalogue I

THE DECALOGUE is a film project by Polish director Krzysztof Kieslowski. It tells of the ten commandments. Ten commandments. Ten films. The first Decalogue, as all the others do, takes place in a compartmentalized little world. A father and son faun over their computer. It can shut off the water, lock and unlock the door, perform extremely complicated mathematic problems. The father is a professor of math at a local school, the son, bright and sunny as a child can be, shows interest in God, math, and spirituality. The crime committed, however, is this duo's trust in a God other than God. The duo put their trust in this emblem, and they are thus doomed. This is a sad film, but a great one. A man watches their plight from the shore of a frozen lake. He knows as we do the doom.
The Decalogue I: ★★★1/2

Koyaanisqatsi

Koyaanisqatsi: Life Out of Balance

Best watched impaired.

Great visuals.

Great music. (Philip Glass).

Great message.

Koyaanisqatsi: ★★★

Drive

DRIVE is seductive. I can imagine it playing at Cannes to its warm responses, foreigners jubilating over the seductive American action movie that has been so perpetually hinted at, but never delivered. I can see why it won best direction at Cannes as well. It is, to be sure, very well directed, but past that truth, the seductiveness of an American 21st century feature is more appealing. Shot in an old fashioned manner, and possessing a lot of the silences of the 70's and 80's, this is at heart, however, a film very much of the 21st century. First, in tone, in color (wonderfully so), DRIVE is oblique and melancholy, paying tribute to Michael Mann, but also a lot like Fincher's SOCIAL NETWORK in its use of technology (and being not fearful of that medium).
Can ROSS DRESS FOR LESS look good in a picture? So often the commercial strips of towns seems so unartful and ugly, but here, in DRIVE, director Nicolas Winding Refn uses these 21st century marks to accentuate his frame. ROSS DRESS FOR LESS is very blue, so he puts it against black, red, tan colors, a pallid frame. This is a great cinematic gesture.
Past this even, Refn's hero, known only as The Driver is possessed cleanly and perfectly by Ryan Gosling, who emits a certain cool in DRIVE unlike any other role of his. There is some heart, but an existential mind at work: a brutality and a manner-of-fact way of looking at things. Very much like the great NIGHT MOVES, Gosling's driver doesn't belong in this world. He sparks up a relationship with tender Carey Mulligan and her son. The father is in jail for unknown reasons (a lot like how everything about the Driver is unknown; he strolls into places, working at a garage for Brian Cranston's crippled father figure, working as a stunt driver for films, and by night: acting as the getaway car driver for heists). It is even appropriate that that seemingly important bit of knowledge was stored away in parentheses, the driver and his motives are what matter. The father is in trouble, and by association, so are his child and wife. The driver coolly steps in to assist, and everything goes to hell, bringing in a cast of ugly, evil creatures.
This is no apologetic film though: The Driver is existentially who he is and he does things the way he wants them to. Artistically, DRIVE is great, and as a symbol of what American seduction should be, it is likewise, great.
Drive: ★★★★

Clerks

CLERKS does a great thing: it attempts to provoke us, but we never actually sense that it is trying to be provocative. Coming out in the late 90's amid essential censorship protests demanding an NC-17 rating for language alone, Cannes lauds, and debut-film wonderment, similarly surprising is that these outside factors haven't diminished the film itself. Perhaps pretentiously, as with all of his films / work, Kevin Smith crafts in CLERKS a parallel universe of laziness. His film is, on the surface, about how the clerks who serve us really hate us, but underneath that, and past the realization / obviousness of the pathetic nature of clerks, there is a culture of laziness and self awareness.
Dante (Brian O'Halloran) is Smith's lazy hero: a convenience store clerk who is brought in on his day off. Everything goes bad for Dante: his friend from the video store next door, Randall (Jeff Anderson) annoys him all day, he misses a hockey game, he laments over his high school girlfriend, he laments over his current girlfriend, and he has to deal with idiotic customers. The whiny nature of Dante's problems is the least attractive bit of the film, but, made on a minuscule budget, the goings-on at the small convenience store is surreally funny. However unbelievable the customers are (and they aren't all weird) they possess a quality of what the quintessential asshole at the counter would be like, rather than the general one. The knack for dialogue that Smith possesses is also put to good use.
However, this is a film of immaturity. It has a lot of worth, and its very funny, and for that I give it credit. Philosophically however, as CLERKS occasionally pretends to be, the film is not sound.
Clerks: ★★★

Contagion

CONTAGION is a film of coldness and style, indifference and beauty. Directed by Steven Soderbergh, and written by his collaborator on THE INFORMANT! (Scott Z. Burns), a specific cool is carried out within the frames of CONTAGION. Beginning with shots of people touching faces, glasses, each other, doorknobs, the germaphobic early montage is set off with a very sick number of people from across the globe who are seemingly, by their disease, interconnected. The most focused of these people is Beth Emhoff (Gwyneth Paltrow), who is leaving Hong Kong after a business trip with a fever, blurry vision, and terrible headaches. She returns home to her husband Mitch (Matt Damon) and her seven-year-old. Quickly and inevitably, Beth falls to the ground, seizes, and dies. The doctors are baffled, citing west nile or a number of other overseas contracted diseases to her death. The circumstances are odd though, and Mitch distraughtly returns home only to find more horror.
Uncovering a cell phone video online of a similar death on the same day, Alan Krumweide (Jude Law), a conspiracy theorist blogger, has early musings of a corrupt CDC, and his early crackpot-ery slowly develops into prophetic eeriness.
Doctors Ellen Mears (Kate Winslet), Ally Hextall (Jennifer Ehle), and Ellis Cheever (Laurence Fishburne) slowly work through mass infection and death to uncover the secrets to the disease. These cool-headed figures of solidarity often act in practical manners, just as in the ways that the looting in the streets as the epidemic escalates seems sensical rather than barbaric.
Similarly, Mitch keeps his uninfected daughter an essential prisoner by his side, keeping her away from her loving, worrying boyfriend to protect her, Marion Cotillard's Leonora, who is investigating the source of the disease in Hong Kong, keeps loyal to small groups of hopeless villagers, and John Hawkes' janitor named Roger pleads for the help of the CDC doctors whose wastebaskets he empties.
People die quickly in CONTAGION, and many found it bothersome how briskly the plot moved on, and how coldly their deaths were consider matter-of-fact. But this is the strength of CONTAGION: accentuating the indifference of a disease to the petty problems of people. There is heart within CONTAGION, buried under facts, figures, and supports for the plot. Consider Laurence Fishburne's conflicted CDC doctor. Stylistically as well, CONTAGION is well crafted and beautiful to look at, featuring very 21st century images of stark contrasts of pale tan and civilization's mechanical attire. This is a great film, tense, scary, and haunting. Although the subject matter is currently overshadowing the content, this is a film very much worth seeing.
Contagion: ★★★★

Dead or Alive 2: Birds

DEAD OR ALIVE 2: BIRDS encompasses robot-turtles, an unattractive (at first) title, gore, angel wings, prophetic swarms of birds, the juxtaposition of beautiful, calm scenes of home-town pleasance with the images of gangsters' gun fights. Directed by the great Takashi Miike, BIRDS is a film about violence, and the way that violence pervades from childhood to adulthood. Two men, Mizuki and Shuuichi have grown up from childhood friends to big-city contract killers. Each is unaware of the other's presence within their realm, but one day on a similar hit, they cross paths. Seeing in each other a violence that was desired at childhood and was never fully formed, the men return to their home-town, seeing a third friend who went down a more conventional path, and vestiges of the things they half-understood as children. Their sexuality is especially explored: the men notice the wife of their third friend to be one of the girls they hung around with as children at the same time as they noticed their burgeoning sexuality. Violence is not integral to the third friend's life, and yet the presence of Mizuki and Shuuichi pushes it into that life. The men, killers, remark that by killing one jerk for $30,000 they could save the lives of a hundred thousand children by administering them 30 cent vaccinations. Their violence becomes justified, and yet their line of work forbids a happy ending. Wings sprout from their back, prophetic birds swoop through buildings. DEAD OR ALIVE 2: BIRDS is one of the greatest films obliquely about everything and anything: repurposing images, tones, and emotions.
Dead or Alive 2: Birds: ★★★★

King of Kong: A Fistful of Quarters

In retrospect, very little happens in KING OF KONG, and what does happen, I am inherently uninterested in. Such a realization only serves to elevate my admiration of the film, directed craftily by Seth Gordon. We learn, from his film, that there are a number of high scoring classic arcade video game players in the world. It is easy to get a decent score on Pac-Man, C*Bert, Donkey Kong, and Galaga, we learn, but to get a high score (a ridiculously high score attained from hours of gameplay), subtle knowledge of pattern, and extremely brisk hand-eye coordination is necessary. Gordon exhibits a cast of characters: a nerdy (well, everyone here is nerdy) referee who keeps tabs on all the high scores and submits them to Guinness World Records, Billy Mitchell (the purported best video game player of all time who dons a sleek, 80's haircut, douchebag attitude, and Darth Vader presence), and the lowly, recently fired Steve Wiebe. Mitchell, who has fame for many world records, is challenged by Wiebe, who incessantly plays Donkey Kong in his garage. One day, among screaming kids and major distractions, Wiebe achieves a World Record in Donkey Kong, surpassing Billy Mitchell's score by hundreds of thousands of points. The supposed guardians of the arcade games, however, deny the unknown Wiebe's claim (and a video of him achieving the score). Wiebe, distraught, fights Mitchell in a one-sided duel: Wiebe traveling hundreds of miles to set scores, Mitchell sending in old videotapes of himself achieving higher and higher scores. In a sense, KING OF KONG is a nerd underdog movie, and at that, it achieves more than many other documentaries by making us care about its subject, and showing us something we wouldn't have otherwise cared about.
King of Kong: A Fistful of Quarters: ★★★1/2

Curb Your Enthusiasm (S.8)

Grating, and exceptionally stupid this season, "Curb Your Enthusiasm" only featured a few good episodes that themselves weren't without fault. Larry has never been a character one can overtly love, but this season it was hard not to dislike him in many episodes. There's some brilliance at work, surely, and some of the episodes would have been great in other seasons, or made up a great season without some of the bad episodes, but at 80 episodes now, HBO's longest running series, the idea machine seems to be running short. "Seinfeld" was a show that ended strong, in top form, but "Curb" seems destined not to do this. This of course is no bad show, but audiences expect a lot from David's brand of comedy.
Curb Your Enthusiasm (S.8): ★★

True Blood (S.4)

In season 4 of "True Blood", the show suffered from many of its past ailments. Including the incessant 'bad guy won't die' theme, pointless deaths, and a lot of repetitiveness, only a few of the shows strengths allowed it to coast this season. The witches theme, and an early-abandoned fairy theme, added to the mythological strengths of the show, and as usual the cast contained a lot of like-ability and decent arcs. However, there were too many diversions, and half-promises and half-deliveries. If you watch "True Blood" and you're on season 4, you obviously care about the characters and what will happen to them to be too maddened by the silliness, but there definitely was an overflow of it this season. More like, the show would do something extremely stupid, and then happily redeem itself with a great episode, line, or arc. The season finale especially was like this. The first thirty minutes were laughable crap, but the last thirty were exciting and reminiscent of why the show was so involving in the first place. Decent.
True Blood (S.4): ★★★

Andy Richter Controls the Universe (S.1)

I was one of the few fans of Andy Richter's most recent attempt at a sitcom. That show was called "Andy Barker: P.I." and it was a silly little trifle that consisted of jokes that were only funny if you were a learned noir fan. In "Andy Richter Controls the Universe" Richter created another harmless show that just wasn't punchy enough to make it. Resembling in its multiple narrator-fantasies a much better show called "Scrubs", "Andy Richter Controls the Universe" is about the lowly Andy Richter who is a writer, but sadly writes manuals for a large company. He has a circle of sitcom friends including a hot receptionist, playboy best friend, steely boss, and nerdy officemate. There are a few good jokes here and there, especially a running theme with college alumni fawning after Andy because he used to be in the same fraternity as them 20 years ago and fought a bear naked. But otherwise, this is such a non-exciting show, that it only serves as white noise while making food or doing some other mundane activity. That makes the show sound bad, and it isn't, it's just that in order to make successful tv, you should really have a twist in your show that makes it funny, but so many of the elements of "Andy Richter Controls the Universe" exist already in better, funnier shows.
Andy Richter Controls the Universe Season 1: ★★1/2

8 Women

Beginning with bright colors and french superstars, François Ozon's 8 WOMEN is a devious little treasure, manipulative and tributary. There are at first seven women in the household. A beautiful, Victorian-like house that would be ideal for a staging of "The Little Nutcracker", with parading women scampering about with colorful dresses playing off of the lurid furniture. There is the mother of the house, Gaby (played by Catherine Deneuve, a French superstar if there ever was one), the aunt, Augustine (Isabelle Huppert), the matriarch Mamy (Danielle Darrieux), the daughters: Suzon who is visiting for Christmas (Virginie Ledoyen) and Catherine (Ludivine Sagnier), the sister-in-law Pierrette (Fanny Ardant), the cook, Madame Chanel (Firmine Richard) and a new chambermaid named Louise (Emmanuelle Béart). These women, in the beginning, seem pure and happy, joyously they sing! Unexpectedly so, this becomes a musical, beginning with a frothy little number led by Ludivine Sagnier's Catherine, with a creepy Gaby in the background looking like some background dancer. This is an offputting beginning, for the film was made in 2002, about 50 years too late for some joyous musical. But as I mentioned before, Ozon is a devious filmmaker, and his odd beginning slowly develops into a dark drama with sad songs, passionate acting, and buried truths. Suzon, home for Christmas, rushes upstairs to see her father. When she opens the door to his room, she seems him lying dead in his bed with a dagger in his back. Catherine locks the door, demanding to keep the room secured for the police. In an awkward lament that seems unwieldy at first, the women seemingly brush off the murder and begin seeking the murderer among them. In Hitchockian reveals, Ozon reveals no killers, but the various skeletons in the closet of the women, who are briskly joined by Pierrette, the sister of the deceased. Ozon begins with a silly little number, and ends with devastation. This is a wonderful little treasure: half critique on the 50's lifestyle / mentality, half tribute to Hitchcock and those 50's musicals themselves.
8 Women: ★★★1/2

Archer (S.1)

Archer is crass and vile, but it knows it. With a show that has nothing disingenuous about it, a show that knows that the gold ages of television have come and passed, a show that revels in its unimportance, it's hard not to love "Archer". Telling about the sexcapades of a momma's boy secret agent named Archer, the show consists of essentially spy-movie spoofs and gratuity. Drawn cleanly, the animation is still vaguely realistic, although occasionally choppy and pasty. But such an analysis does not even suit "Archer". Its genius relies not on its premise nor even its great characters (sex driven peons and sex driven agents who talk shit). Rather, "Archer" is a one-of-a-kind show because it knows dumb comedy well. It lets out a line, and then continually returns to that line, or situation later on in the show: contrasting its own "of the moment" hilarities with the ones from earlier. Archer himself, a Bondsian machine of insults, bad one liners, and sex stamina, acts as a tying force to many of the looser, lazier parts of the show. Occasionally shrill however, the first season suffers from a languor inherent to its type of comedy: essentially, hit or miss comedy. Despite this, this is a seemingly lazy effort from what must have taken a lot of work. This, however, is a perfect match to the kind of laziness required from television: as if the Kardashians were intentionally dipshits, rather than just actually being so.
Archer: ★★★1/2

Imprint

Takashi Miike is probably the most prolific director of modern times. Back in 2006, Miike was commissioned, along with a number of other horror directors (eg. John Carpenter) to make a film for the MASTERS OF HORROR series. He was guaranteed full creative control with the conditions of a tight budget alone. However, after completing the film, the Showtime network which was supposed to air IMPRINT backed off due to the graphic content of the film. True, with IMPRINT Miike crafts a truly shocking horror film, complete with incest, pedophilia, aborted fetuses, mutation, and rape. Beginning with a dreary boat on murky waters, an American in the Victorian era coasts towards an island with deformed asians. The man, known as Christopher (Billy Drago), watches as the men bury a pregnant woman at sea. They land, and he walks off to a compound filled with whores. The mistress of the house, syphilitic, greats him, her nose deteriorating into fragments. Christopher is told he must stay the night, and picks out a whore from the back, whose hair is blue, her face deformed. He is on a search for a past flame named Komomo, a whore whom he had promised he would save and return to America. The mistress has feigned any knowledge, but the blue haired girl has a story to tell. This story is one that contains torture, and the before-mentioned incest, pedophilia, etc. The rest of the film, consisting of Christopher's prodding and mendings of the whore's story consists of some of the most disgusting and shocking images I have ever seen in a film. To match it is only Lars Von Trier's ANTICHRIST, and yet IMPRINT is more shocking in a universal and effusive way. There is a craft at work here, but also a winking gratuity which is occasionally alienating when it isn't horrifying. IMPRINT also works nicely as an introduction to Miike's work, but one starting here would be so disgusted by the content as to not appreciate the work.
Imprint: ★★1/2

Videodrome

VIDEODROME is a film that centers itself around our obsession with television. By use of the videotape, box tv, and topical censorship issues, one could easily imagine a film like VIDEODROME being outdated. Videodrome itself is a tv signal sent out from Pittsburgh. It contains 'shows' which exhibit extremely realistic torture porn, bloody sex, and sadomasochism. Intrigued by videodrome is the President of a controversial station: one that shows soft-core porn and open (staged) exhibitions of violence. His name is Max (James Woods), a sleazy but controlled supporter of this kind of entertainment. Appearing on talk shows with odd characters whose beliefs are contrary to his own, Max's charisma allows him to coast cleanly on the staple of his self-control. Two of these odd tv personalities are 1) Dr. O'Blivion (a man who refuses to appear unless he's on a television (even on television)) and 2) Nicki Brand (Deborah Harry aka Blondie). Max starts up a relationship with Nicki, who appears to like sex when needles are involved. This is a sexy obsession for Max, who is intrigued by the underbelly of what his station exhibits / symbolizes. After discovering videodrome, however, he begins to have odd hallucinations, and is dragged slowly into the world of the creators of videodrome. This is no obsession with videotape or tv, however, it is an obsession with the medium: the act of appearing on television: the act of appearing to be important. Director David Cronenberg's film is much like his later film, eXistenZ, or even the great CRASH. VIDEODROME is about the obsessions these people have with a certain medium and how it affects the rest of their lives. Sex with needles, appearing only on televison, etc. Modern.
Videodrome: ★★★

Monsieur Verdoux

The days of Chaplin's 'tramp' came officially to an end with MONSIEUR VERDOUX. His last film before VERDOUX however, contained a character unassociated with the tramp on paper, but in actions, was quite similar. With MONSIEUR VERDOUX though, Chaplin's on-screen persona was one clearly, and drastically different from that of the character that had made him a universal sensation. Because of this change, MONSIEUR VERDOUX was received poorly, and was considered a failure. Now, however, in 2011, MONSIEUR VERDOUX is considered one of Chaplin's best films, a cult film, and a great piece of art.
Coming from an idea of Orson Welles's, Chaplin wrote and directed an extension of that original idea. Post-war, Chaplin created a character named Monsieur Verdoux who made his living by marrying rich idiots, and then killing them to collect insurance money. Parading around Paris with matter-of-fact sensibilities and unlucky tendencies, Verdoux becomes older as the film progresses, and his once-booming 'business' of sorts, also deteriorates due to bad luck, and misplaced morality. The idea of a man doing such gross acts in the post-war is Chaplin's left-wing, controversial quasi-art, quasi-political statement. Artfully constructed, controlled, and acted, MONSIEUR VERDOUX seems more than any trite political allegory / importance, but a statement on complacency of morality in the face of greater tragedies, and / or the degeneration of an art form that previously allowed for elevation, to, in the same fashion, demand disintegration.
Monsieur Verdoux: ★★★★

Eastern Promises

Cold Greatness

It was not with an early film nor an internet blogger’s mention that I stumbled across David Cronenberg’s EASTERN PROMISES. I did not see it in theaters or read about it afterwards. Rather, I came to discover EASTERN PROMISES at the beginning of a trek towards an interest in cinema. In 2007, I began to watch many films: classified by watching as many in a month as the average person does in a year. Beside EASTERN PROMISES in 2007 I discovered BEFORE THE DEVIL KNOWS YOU’RE DEAD, THERE WILL BE BLOOD, NO COUNTRY FOR OLD MEN, and the list could go on and on.

The film itself tells of a driver named Nikolai (Viggo Mortensen) who is working his way up in the mob. He keeps himself in close quarters with the boss’s son Kiril (Vincent Cassel), who is a lesser evil in contrast to his father. It turns out that one of the mob’s whores escaped and gave birth to a son. Dying in childbirth, the son is discovered by a midwife named Anna (Naomi Watts). Along with the son, Anna inherits the dead prostitute’s diary. It is, however, fully in Russian and she is unable to read it. She seeks out a fluent speaker, but ends up finding that speaker in the mob boss himself. Recognizing the implications the diary could have, he panics, and Anna, her family, and the infant are all put into danger. Meanwhile, Nikolai works his way deviously up the ladder. He is stoic but brutally tough, while maintaining a cleansing, protective watch over Anna.

There are more plot points, but why clutter the summary with them. What truly occurs in EASTERN PROMISES is a union of Cronenberg’s deft, bilious direction, and the cold, smartness of Viggo Mortensen’s performance. It works perfectly in EASTERN PROMISES; creating half revelations and half pleasures that both hint to an underlying madness within.

The only Cronenberg film I had seen before EASTERN PROMISES was THE FLY. I didn’t even know he directed it until quite a while afterwards. I never liked THE FLY, but now, after seeing most of Cronenberg’s work, why EASTERN PROMISES continues to resonate with me is a looming question. A HISTORY OF VIOLENCE is probably the better film, but the clean coldness of EASTERN PROMISES and its near perfection are almost shunted away by the film itself. Many find it hard to embrace Cronenberg’s lugubrious films, but I desire to embrace this one, despite its refusal to allow that.
Eastern Promises: ★★★★

Dexter (S.5)

The success of Showtime's "Dexter" must come from its supporting cast. Obviously, and occasionally, the storyline becomes over-ridiculous. Dexter, a serial killer vigilante type always played brilliantly by the talented Michael C. Hall, is too lucky in the show. So often, the cliffhangers at the ends of episodes are cleanly resolved at the beginnings of the next ones. To rectify this, as well as the formulaic design of each season, a specific twist is given to the supporting cast. Last season, John Lithgow provided an eerie presence, and this season, Julia Stiles provides one of the best characters of the entire series. Stiles plays Lumen Pierce, a damaged rape victim whom Dexter connects with. Here, Dexter's vigilante work is assisted by Lumen's desire for revenge. By this point in the series, we've bought Dexter's persona, but because that is always such a problematic one, Lumen's more-sellable revenge desire coasts us through. The show still has a lot of signature moments of great writing, Jennifer Carpenter is still a likeable contrast to Dexter, C.S. Lewis continues to be a source of boneheaded comic relief, and coming out of Dexter's wife's death in season 4, there's a very good handling of material. Season 5 seems destined to pale in comparison to the great season 4. But for this to be merely from contrast is unfair. Season 5 of "Dexter" is an exploration through already traveled waters, but still fun and suspenseful.
Dexter (Season 5): ★★★1/2