Man on Wire

Here's a documentary of great restraint. It doesn't show us background, it doesn't clutter its story with excesses, or, for a film prominently about the twin towers, anything obvious about that. The film presents us with Phillipe Petit, a French high-wire walker. Alternating between the beginning of Petit's career and the event that defined him, the film lets Petit tell most of the story. He's quite animated, using an actual curtain in the room as a prop at times, and practically jumping out of his seat. Assisting us in an illustration of Petit's prime achievement are those who helped him plan it. They're all similarly entertaining, but more restrained than the passionate Petit. One half of the film tells of Petit's early achievements: he walked between the spires of Notre Dame, upon a bridge in Sydney. These achievements, shown in old black and whites and film footage, are astonishing. There's a quiet, serene, beauty to Petit, who, so passionate as he explains his life, has a look of great concentration and masterful prowess when he's on the high wire. He's described as walking on clouds, and he appears to, rather, walk in the sky. Petit, however, becomes enamored with the construction of the world trade center in New York City. He sees the buildings as something practically built for him, and this bug grows in him from a dream to great, extensive, elaborately explained planning. Petit had to figure out where to rig the wire, how to get it from one tower to another, how to surpass guards, security, workers, and then, of course, survive. But the achievement is depicted with a great serenity, which reflects on the same sort of realization that the towers no longer exist, but Petit does. When the scene finally comes where Petit walks on the wire, it is nothing less than stunning.

★★★★ out of Five

Bronson

BRONSON is an odd film at first, opening with an in-your-face narration by Charlie Bronson (Tom Hardy), his bald, mustached face biliously moving about in jolts. Bronson's sort of irritating as he begins to tell his tale before a large, audience, but we learn that this is the point of the film. Bronson was touted by the papers of London as Britain's Most Dangerous Criminal. This, Bronson is, despite having been in solitary confinement for over 90% of his jail time. Still though, Bronson is an obvious character, more intrigued with how he can turn his violent impulses into fame than stop those impulses. His speechifying all over the film is a comment on this, for, it is who Bronson wishes he could be, when instead he's just a freak show of iron fists and incessant workouts. Directed by Nicholas Winding Refn, who directed 2011's DRIVE as well as VALHALLA RISING, BRONSON is a more minor effort, a little uneven and occasionally, self-admittedly unimportant and uninteresting. Fight scenes with Bronson are great, and Hardy plays the guy well, but the whole film isn't filled with what is the most interesting part of the character. Rather, a lot of the film is filled with uninteresting summary. The film is short, but it should have been even shorter for pure punchiness. Instead, the film is sort of languorous, and Bronson becomes grating when he's not doing something interesting like beating up guards. Even though this may be part of a point that Bronson's only real talents lay in beating the crap out of people, it doesn't make for a very entertaining film.
Bronson: ★★

Hunger

HUNGER is a powerful film, practically silent except for a long, twenty minute take of a debate. Conveying the story of Bobby Sands, and IRA prisoner in the 90's and the hunger strike he started while in prison, artful grossness is exemplified by artist turned director Steve McQueen. McQueen directs smartly, and apart from his images and his politics lie a strong performance and buried humanity. HUNGER follows three stories (not stringently, as many multiple-character dramas do, but with convenience). The first is of a duo of IRA prisoners, one who is seemingly reluctant in what he's partaking in. For, the prisoners are defiant and rebellious, caking the walls of their cells with their own shit and dousing their piss under the doorways into the hallway. The reluctant prisoner is not belittled by a decision or by explanation, but shown. We sense his fear. What has he gotten himself into? This is the ultimate battleground. The second story surrounds the daily toils of a prison guard. He seems motivated by macho sensibilities and misplaced fears around prisoners. The way his story goes is unexpected, gross, and overtly sad. The third and central story is that of Bobby Sands, who is played greatly by Michael Fassbender. Sands partakes in all of the protests, and as a sort of ringleader, he is usually the most volatile prisoner. However, at some point, Sands determines that his protests are minor, and that only a great statement will last. He thus decides to enter a hunger strike. He will begin with himself, and two weeks after he starts, another prisoner will stop eating. Sands' descent, and Fassbender's loss of thirty-five pounds for the role is astonishing. More daring though is the 20 minute talking scene, which is between Bobby Sands and a priest. They discuss suicide, and whether Sands' killing himself makes sense if it is for a cause, because he will never be able to see the fruits of his efforts. Later though, as Sands dies, is one of the best sequences of the film, in which Sands recollects an event that he used in the conversation with the priest to justify his actions. In his tale, Sands said that as a cross country runner, he discovered with other boys a dying boy in a lake. He says that he did what had to be done, and killed the boy, putting him out of his misery. Everyone else knew it had to be done and wished to, but were unable to gather the courage. Sands' tale is left to be a mystery. Whether it happened or not is unclear. Despite this though, Sands is still dead, and all that remains of him are some artful shots of shit on a wall.
Hunger: ★★★★

Summer Hours

SUMMER HOURS is a great film: encompassing many different aspects of people and life within wonderfully directed scenes of naturalism and honesty. I've not seen a film with greater honesty about teenagers, or greater honesty about families. In SUMMER HOURS, three siblings gather around the impending death of their mother. Their father was never around, and so she is their beacon, their matriarch. The first quarter or so of the film depicts the family joking and happy around the matriarch in her home: a gorgeous, lurid house filled to the brim with un-calculatable art and culture. It's the 21st century, and the siblings move about each other in defensive mechanisms, each going to see the mother at different points and manipulating her for some sort of material item. What SUMMER HOURS gets right is this: the time that passes between seeing people when you're disconnected, the sibling battle between desires for parental attention and a common bond against those parents descent or ascent, and the teenagers obliviousness to it all expect on base levels of: dad's being a dick. As Olivier Assayas films SUMMER HOURS, as he directs his actors, the film grows to a greater level of greatness. The acting is perfect, people talk over each other, whisper, blink, like a symphony of images and reactions to each other. And then in the second half, Assayas makes SUMMER HOURS even more modern and relevant. For, Assayas is a director who concerns himself with money. Money. Money, how it works, how it's complicated, how it divides the family, how sensibilities and greater truths transcend that desire for money, and then reality crashes into them in the form of closer family. A great film.
Summer Hours: ★★★★

Encounters at the End of the World

Not without great images, some great voiceover work, ideas, and comedy, Werner Herzog's film where he travels to Antarctica is somewhat underwhelming. Beginning with an underwater shot of breathtaking quality, Herzog tells us that such images inspired him to make the film. He goes on to document the scientists who live at a compound in Antarctica. All are quirky and some are entertaining. These people seem to have made a greater effect on Herzog than most else in the film. He lingers on them for too much time, I think, and that pulls the films quality down. For, although Herzog is experiencing Antarctica first-hand, and he thus finds lesser subjects more interesting, we aren't in his position, and I wanted more of the imagery that was at the beginning of the film. It's also spaced out throughout the duration of the film, but its not enough for the promise that Herzog gives. There's some greatness here; especially concerning a suicidal penguin, and the film as a whole is worth seeing, but I feel as if on some level it's a bit of a failure. It's scope is too narrow. I admire Herzog's CAVE OF FORGOTTEN DREAMS a whole lot more because it lingers on the images rather than dubiously entertaining or quirky scientists. Will I remember the scientists a month from now, and how one told a lot of funny jokes at Antarctica bars and another liked to watch sci-fi films? Or will I really remember the underwater stalagmite-esque eeriness? This is what I think Herzog neglected. Sure, people are interesting, but the film is about the End of the World (Antarctica) and also, in a way, a realization of eventual death. But you can question anyone about this anywhere and discover this simplicity. If you're going to Antarctica, you better have something real to show us.
Encounters at the End of the World: ★★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

In the City of Sylvia

IN THE CITY OF SYLVIA is a Spanish film by José Luis Guerín. It's slow going and extremely languid, telling vaguely of a man visiting a French city after not having been there for six years. He sits at a local coffeeshop with a terrible waitress, sketches, and searches faces for a woman named Sylvia. One of his sketches is of this mystery woman. It's entitled Elle (Her) and then retitled as Elles (Them), to suggest that his search is probably in vain, and perhaps even that Sylvia represents an intangible idea or presence, rather than a specific person. During this scan of coffeeshop women, he discovers a woman in red, perks up, and follows her around town. This is pretty much the extent of the plot, but Guerín's film is visually inventive, knowledgeable about cities, and more importantly, knowledgable about the average bored individual man and his milieu. During the coffeeshop scene where the man sketches and re-sketches the various women, Guerín's camera only unveils little bits of the scene: first revealing a man and a woman sitting next to each other looking anxious, and then returning to that man five minutes later revealing that the man is sitting at an opposite table from the woman earlier, and that he is with his wife at his own table. Guerín's inventiveness consists of various glances and suggestions about the sketcher's feelings. The women he sketches are all vastly different from one another, but all quite beautiful. In the essential chase scene that comes later, when the drawer follows the woman in red, we see an entire town slowly and in fragments as the woman circles around the square through shops, alleys, and street crossings. Even in the picture added in above, a simple scene of a woman waiting for the train is accentuated by the picture of a model who seems to be glancing in the direction of the woman waiting. The woman who waits is not as beautiful, and she seems tired and old as she waits. Later in this same scene, Guerín cuts to a breathtaking woman wearing a shawl and sunglasses. And even later, he cuts back to the same woman, who takes off her sunglasses and reveals ghastly burns. IN THE CITY OF SYLVIA is a gorgeous rendition of city, sound, and nervous glances. These glances lead to every event in the film: the chase, the sketches, the woman with burns, the woman waiting. It's suggestive, and yet illusory. It would be presumptive to say that I understood everything in Guerín's film, but it dared me to look, and to try to understand. That is cinema at its greatest, its most human.
In the City of Sylvia: ★★★★

Wendy and Lucy

Kelly Reichardt directed this 2008 film starring Michelle Williams. She has a stark style to her that likes to exhibit something obvious that's been laden in repurposing additions. For example, in her film, MEEK'S CUTOFF she shows a group of travelers who starve to death on the Oregon trail. We have all been so conditioned with visions of attacking indians, however, that the true and most dangerous aspect of these journeys were lost. It is the same with WENDY AND LUCY, which simply tells of a woman who is "just passing through" a small Oregon town with her dog, Lucy. The woman, Wendy, is played by Michelle Williams, who is the only big name in the film, and without much plot in the film, Williams is able to perfectly evoke the depressing woman. For, as we watch Wendy get out of her old clunker, sleep in the car, and pick up bottles to turn in, there's a timely figure of the broken American that Reichardt evokes. The town is shot in such a way that we see an emphasis on the streets, gates, stores, and we feel as if the town exists only outside of these houses where, of course, Wendy is doomed to loom. We learn little about her past, and prospected future, but that's okay because Wendy seems too hopeless to have any sort of "american dream" that populates so many depressing, but family oriented films in the 21st century especially. Reichardt also deftly shows Wendy to be not unlike many of us, as she is afraid of her fellow homeless. The only plot point Reichardt puts into the story is that Wendy loses her dog. The circumstances around this loss are finely realistic, and will remain unspoiled in this review. She starts obsessing over her only friend in the world, and we follow her as she searches. A kind old man who must have been cast on location as he looks so authentically poor, helps Wendy out, perhaps if only because he isn't too far off from Wendy's situation. WENDY AND LUCY is perhaps too simplistic, but it gets many details right, and remains unostentatious while making its point (which is uncharacteristic of many indie films about the poor or hopeless). It is not as good as Reichardt's MEEK'S CUTOFF, but a solid introduction to her style, which hopefully will flourish past MEEK'S CUTOFF and develop into more complicated fare.
Wendy and Lucy: ★★★

Shotgun Stories

SHOTGUN STORIES begins with cinematic music in an un-cinematic setting. Sure, there are striking images throughout, and occasional lingering upon images to provide a sense of place, but for the most part, SHOTGUN STORIES is not a cinematic film. I should say, it does not call to attention that it is a portion of the cinema. Only its music does this, coming in between scenes, and then fading away to let the action happen. The film, made on a shoestring budget, concerns two groups of feuding sons of the same father. This father was a drunk, and married a "hateful woman." With her he had three sons whom he named: Son, Kid, and Boy. Then, he walked out on them. Apparently though, the father cleaned up his act, remarried and had a second group of sons who only share the last name Hayes with the neglected sons. Son Hayes (Michael Shannon) is the rock of his side of the family, looking after Kid and Boy, both of whom don't do much except drink beer on porches, sit by the river, and watch life go by. What's interesting here is that although the second group of sons had a steady-going father, they are no less trashy than the first set. When the father dies, and Son talks hatefully of him at the funeral, the hatred that has been welling up in the neglected sons' heads comes out, and the second set of sons fight back for their fathers memory. From that point onward, there is a feud. It's ugly and realistic in the way it unfolds. What makes SHOTGUN STORIES so great though, is not its striking imagery, storyline, budget woes, or music, but the way the actors work. Everyone is so matter-of-fact and in-urgent despite the presence of urgency that we see the way a group of people act, and why.
Shotgun Stories: ★★★1/2

Me and Orson Welles

The travel-minded director Richard Linklater has made what could have been weak and phony, a wonderful film. ME AND ORSON WELLES is not so unlike his earlier films which transport us to a place and time and watch its characters move around that place and time. But in ME AND ORSON WELLES we inhabit the 1930's with more of an idea than a genuine feel. Injections of swing music, omnipresent hats and trenchcoats and the word: swell, only make us begin to believe in the place and time. But RL's injection of Christian McKay as the genius Orson Welles is what makes his film great. It often plays like an inspirational schoolboy drama, with the dreamy-eyed Zac Efron as a young actor basking in the creative light of Welles. Even events and sayings within the film play as if it belongs in TO SIR, WITH LOVE or some british boarding house drama. But Christian McKay and how RL directs him is so perfect that we believe or even want to believe that this is how Welles was. He gets the voice perfectly, but doesn't make a show of it. ME AND ORSON WELLES is a wonderfully directed and acted film.
Me and Orson Welles: ★★★★

Bigger, Stronger, Faster*

The documentary BIGGER, STRONGER, FASTER* suffers from the same major faults as many documentaries. 1) The narrator/filmmaker plays dumb, and never sheds any light on his own opinion, making himself seem stupid. 2) The film doesn't show as many not attackable facts as it should. The film deals with the use of steroids within sports, and is narrated/made by a guy who fits into the profile of someone who would have/ should have been using them. We watch as he watches and we see his older brother and his younger brother become vigorous "gym-rats" whose aspirations are ridiculous. They both use steroids, and the middle child Chris Bell, our narrator, is at odds for what to do, and what his stance towards steroids is. We watch as he makes the case that, as children, we are told that a certain body-type is what is okay, and how that was mostly manifested in the 80's movie stars like Hulk Hogan, Sylvester Stalone, and Arnold Schwartzeneger. The film, from that point on, engages in two depressing fashions. The first being that it is naiive about cheating and shows us the revelation that everyone in sports uses drugs, the second that it thinks we are that naiive. It has many nice scenes dealing with a hypocrisy in how we treat drugs, and that makes the film worthwhile. Otherwise, its just the true-life stories of a bunch of sad sacks who never learned that their dreams were unattainable. A decent film.
Bigger, Stronger, Faster*: ★★★

Nights and Weekends

Joe Swanberg is one of those directors who you would find mentioned next to the "mumblecore" film movement. Like most film movements, mumblecore is hard to define. However, Nights and Weekends would fall under some of the key points of mumblecore. For example, the film was made with a micro-budget, it was made by filmmakers in their twenties, and it is largely dialogue driven. Swanberg, who had already made a few mumblecore films, writes and directs alongside Greta Gerwig, who was in Swanberg's LOL and Hannah Takes the Stairs. The collaborative effort of the two young actors has created a push and pull within the film, which is appropriate considering the subject matter. For, the film decides to, in a way, observe the relationship between James (Swanberg) and Mattie (Gerwig). The two are attempting to maintain a long-distance relationship. One lives in Chicago, the other in New York. This creates a tension and immediacy to the relationship, as well as fear and fleeting thoughts. Now, this last line may have been too subjective, for Gerwig and Swanberg never seem to tell you what their movie is. Instead, they let what happens happen. This allows for an audience to decide who the characters are based upon the evidence Gerwig and Swanberg decide to divulge. A strength of the film is that it is visceral at the same time as not saying much. It's the kind of film where the details in a synopsis could be debated because the filmmakers are so devious. Nights and Weekends might not attain profundity, but it expertly creates a portrait of a certain type of people in a certain type of situation. For me, that makes it a triumph.
Nights and Weekends: ★★★1/2

Dear Zachary: A Letter to a Son About His Father

To start off, it should be mentioned that the actual construction of this film is done masterfully. From the use of repetition to suspense to absolute vastness of material and the appropriate and tasteful conjoining of that material, Dear Zachary is an excellent documentary. We begin with the murder of the father (mentioned in the title). His suspected killer is now pregnant with his son: Zachary. The film chronicles the attempt to put his killer in jail and keep Zachary safe. The intent of the film (at first) is to show the mass of people that cared for the murdered man. The filmmaker wishes to then present the film as a sort of gift to Zachary (who would never know his father). Plans go astray, for during the making of the film, some horrendous things happen. The greatness of Dear Zachary is in its construction, what occurs within it is awful, except for the love of the relatives and the perseverance of the murdered man's parents. Dear Zachary is a great documentary.
Dear Zachary: ✰✰✰✰

Prom Night

Here's a movie that you keep waiting for, a film that you could eat lunch around while it provides some noise, a film that is so bad it's not funny, a film that doesn't even try. There were a few times during it when I thought: alright, has the movie started yet? Because, even though it's a clean ninety minutes, the amount of pain it induces is pretty incredible. The first hour is unbelievably boring. A killer is going to kill Brittany Snow (fuck the name of her character, the movie doesn't deserve the effort it would take for me to wiki her name) and it's going to happen at the prom. Snow and a group of friends decide to say 'fuck it' and go to prom anyway. There's a hell-of-a-lot of security, but the security guys are idiots and so are the kids. People start to go off to rooms to have sex, and they're all killed in unbelievably bad kills. I mean, sure, the Friday the 13th series blows, but the inventiveness of the kills keeps you marginally interested. In Prom Night, they're not even trying with the low-key PG-13 deaths. One of two people will die and then the other will go looking around for them, only to be murdered themselves. So, all of Brittany Snow's friends die and then what? In the last 15 minutes of the film, we discover that the killer is actually an obsessed teacher! Oh, and she actually escaped but now he's going to kill her! Oh, but this is also a hollywood PG-13 horror film and everyone's got a hard-on for Brittany Snow, so, of course she lives, the killer dies: la dee fucking da.
Prom Night: 1/2 a ★

Twilight

And now for a movie that truly sucks. Twilight is a film about a teenage girl living in the rainiest bit of land in this United States. It's dark and dreary and the characters and drearier. Bella (Kristen Stewart who is actually a damn fine actress) is enamored by the pasty (but hot) teenage boy at school. She moves through her classes lazily except when she sees him (Robert Pattinson). She discovers that his name is Edward and that, holey moley, he's a vampire. But this news does not dissuade Bella from her ventures with the dashing Edward. And of course something gets in the way of their love. It's more vampires! For, I've forgotten to mention that Edward and his family are a sort of vegan vampire group, and that the other (more devious) vampires are now after Bella because, hell, she looks like a fine piece of meat. And now for why this movie sucks, if the plot has not been convincing enough. From a technological point of view, it's extremely campy and silly (but it isn't aware of that). Each scene looks gloomy (and not in the gorgeous camerawork sort of way) and the lines of professing love are ultimately ridiculous and wooden (not the good type). Twilight is so amateurish in every way that it almost becomes a little enjoyable, because its so funny. That seems to be its stature among fans of the series, but there was a sort of last nail in the coffin for this movie (ha!) or two. The first was that the scene where the vampires fight it out for Bella was absolutely ridiculous. It's probably the biggest anti-climax of all time. It sucks. The second is that the entire story is a metaphor for abstinence. Edward will not have sex with Bella and will not turn her into a vampire (consummating their...vampiric conjunction). And oh how Bella is the number one loser of all time, I don't think in any of the books does she actually do something for herself, but she is the ultimate weepy housewife sort of girl. Her idea of taking matters into her own hands is to cry. Goddammit this movie is a fucking waste of time and energy. Kristen Stewart can do better than this (Yellow Handkerchief, Welcome to the Riley's, Adventureland).
Twilight:★★

The Wrestler

The Wrestler almost plays like a documentary at parts, and in a way it is. It shows the way of life for a group of people in the sports world. Their story is mostly untold, and here (using real-life wrestlers) a world is uncovered. It's a trashy world, filled with whores and blood, losers and drug addicted friends. But there's a certain nobility to the wrestlers. They take a hell-of-a-lot-of pain, and (as in most professions like it) their bodies start to break down. Randy "The Ram" Robinson is the hero, played in a career turning performance by Mickey Rourke (Sin City). He's one tough son-of-a-bitch, but he's coming to the end of his career (and possibly his life). His heart is having troubles, his daughter despises him, and his only friend is a dubious stripper played by Marissa Tomei (My Cousin Vinny). But it's not just the performance of Rourke and the realness within the entire film that makes it so good. There's a certain style and melancholly to it. It represents not just wrestlers at the end of their line, but people. If Randy is unable to be a wrestler, and everything else in his life is essentially shit, then what is left for him? What does he have to hold onto? The Wrestler is electrifying.
The Wrestler: ★★★★