It would seem to be zombies crossed with Cloverfield, which just tickles me to no end.
Looks like Romero isn't the only one this year to tackle the undead with a handicam. Quarantine, due out on October 17th, released its first trailer today, and kids, the first look is fantastic. There's something tremendously effective about a handheld in a horror film. Between this and Diary of the Dead, this year is shaping up to make me one happy zombie fan.
Okay, so, one of the greatest dreams I ever had was of running into George Clooney at the Home Depot, and conversing with him such topics as digital photography and deep sea fishing. He was quite an amenable and pleasant sort, and it was a complete delight to shop with him for lumber. The dream was full of such ordinary awesome, that I kind of just got it into my head that that's what he's like in real life, and instantly cemented his position at number one on my list of Top Five People I Would Like to Have Over for Dinner.
Needless to say, when I saw this video, I was filled with such girlish delight that I bounced a little in my chair and clapped my hands with glee before watching it five and a half times in succession.
George Clooney, you are made of win, and I hope you get the statue on Sunday.
A movie like Hostel II tends towards the difficult when it comes to reviews. On the one hand, it's completely review-proof, in that the people who want to see it, your genre fans/Roth fans/etc., will see it no matter what. If anything, a bad review would serve as incentive; the means by which to be further contrary. And yet, for someone unsure what to expect, the very surprises that might sell them on it would be partially diminished in their revelation.
I won't do that. Even behind a cut, because they are simply to delicious to risk. If I'm vague, this is why. Do not take said vagueness for apathy, however, because Hostel II is a spectacular example of how to do this genre right. It slides easily into the top five horror films of the last five years, far surpassing even its predecessor in quality.
Among my few complaints regarding the elder Hostel was the fact that there was really no emotional connection. Beneath the stylish film making, it was basically three chuckleheads who died in interesting ways. While the principles in Hostel II certainly have flashes of carelessness, Roth allows them the time to be more than that. To be strong, and intelligent, and loyal to each other. To fight the "ugly American" sentiment that all of the first film's primaries embodied (while reinforcing it in an all together different manner). That extra bit of time with the characters takes the film from a well-done splatterfest into the realm of true suspense. Instead of ugly things happening to ugly Americans, you get three women that could be anyone you knew in college. Even your best friend. You care what happens to them.
One surprise that I can mention without risk of spoilers is the level of gore. There's interesting little of it. While what there is of it is definitely disturbing and grotesque, much of it is off-screen, lending the "money shots" that much more oomph. And if we're talking body count? I'm pretty sure just the trailer for Live Free or Die Hard has it beat. Eli Roth lets your imagination do the heavy lifting for most of the film, offering but glimpses at the horror that lies beneath idyllic towns and best laid plans, right up until the jaw-dropping final sequences.
At 96 minutes, Hostel II is concise and well-paced in its storytelling and scares. The acting/casting and writing were both an improvement on the first film, and the cinematography was gorgeous, enough to make a person want to book a trip to the eastern block, even after a film that should have the exact opposite reaction.
I can't recommend it without reservation just because of the nature of the film. While it's smarter, better executed, and far easier to stomach than a lot of its ilk (Aja, I'm looking at you), it is still what it is. Being more subtle than Saw II does not make it a picnic on top of Marshmallow Mountain. But for horror aficionados? Hostel II is an absolute triumph. I loved it.
(P.S.: The trailer for 30 Days of Night was worth the price of admission alone.)
L.A. Times catches up with Eli Roth, proclaiming him a queasy-does-it guy.
I secretly loved Hostel. There was no story to it whatsoever, the acting was adequate at best, and downright poor at its worst, it was completely and totally gross, and I loved it. There was style to it. I dare say, even art, that elevated it beyond the works of many of his fellow "Masters of Horror" (excepting, of course, Neil Marshall, who will always be my favourite. I love you, Neil Marshall! Read my script!). I would wager almost that my very first "complaint," its lack of story, is almost what made it more successful than films like Saw or The Hills Have Eyes, where the style is inevitably pushed to the side under the crushing weight of the plot's preposterousness, a mad dash to tie up loose ends that no one cares about. Hostel, on the other hand, was just an unapologetic onslaught of gore that almost winds up feeling, well, cleaner.
In the article, Roth states, "I want people to be scared and walk away upset, but I don't want them to feel like they need to take a shower." It's that mentality that will cement his future in Hollywood; the acknowledgment of that line. I was already pumped for his take on Cell, but after reading Roth's interview, I'm downright floating. It's been a long time since we've had a proper King adaptation that didn't come from Frank Darabont (seriously, Lawrence Kasdan, why did you do that terrible thing to Dreamcatcher?)
The final test, of course, will be whether or not lightning will strike twice. Luckily, Hostel II comes out this weekend, so I won't have long to wait.
The year of the zombie continues on a high note with last weekend's release of 28 Weeks Later.
I think it's impossible to talk about any sequel without comparison to the original, and in that vein, I do have to report that 28 Weeks Later isn't as good as its predecessor. Days was a visceral, stunning piece of filmmaking, while Weeks feels (understandably) more derivative. It is strongest in its opening moments (moments that, I suspect, belonged to Danny Boyle's second unit directing work, rather than Fresdanillo himself), but remains a solid film throughout, highlighted by several truly haunting and beautiful moments that elevate it above its summer blockbuster counterparts.
Robert Carlyle is fantastic as ever, definitely having fun with the role, throwing himself into it with unabashed glee. Early in the film, he is forced to recount the horrifying opening moments to his children, and the camera lingers on his face as he speaks, his agonized intonation harkening back to his stellar work in Ravenous.
Rose Byrne, Jeremy Renner, and the children Mackintosh Muggleton (greatest name ever, btw) and Imogen Poots falter somewhat in Carlyle's tremendous shadow, but still to a very fine job in depicting a survivor's role in a world gone mad. The quartet is believable and well-acted, and do their best to bring life to their characters in the short spans allowed between action sequences.
The action sequences themselves are well-paced (and frenetically so), and full of tension. Not for the squeamish, 28 Weeks Later ups the gore factor considerably. I won't ruin the surprise by identifying them, but when Fresdanillo gets it right, he really gets it right.
(Note: Spoilers below the cut. Proceed with caution.)
Today, for the first time, I found myself completely alone in a movie theater.
There have been occasions in the past when boyfriend and I have been nearly alone. The sole audience when the lights dimmed, with only a few others wandering in after the credits. But I went to this movie alone, sans boyfriend, even, and when the lights went up, found myself the same.
And it was a damn shame, because In the Land of Women was a terrific film. It is, in fact, second only to Grindhouse in terms of favourites so far this year.
In the Land of Women finds itself in that certain genre of film that seems, if not new, at the very least, newly revitalized in recent times. That of the disenchanted youth that finds his or herself on the verge of approaching an age that can't quite be considered youthful anymore. Maybe it's just because I find myself approaching this age myself that I enter into these movies with high expectations, and maybe it's my own disenchantment that leaves me frequently dissatisfied with the result (Zach Braff's similar efforts have left me consistently cold).
Given that history, I am pleased to report that In the Land of Women stands alone as the one truly enjoyable film of its ilk. Adam Brody gives a tremendous performance, markabley matured from his time on The O.C.. Despite what the trailers might have you believe, this is no reprisal of his Seth Cohen tenure. Meg Ryan, if possible, is even more stunning and luminous than she ever was; complex and nuanced, sweet and dark all at the same time. The pair are the core, the beating heart of the film, but are ably supported by the rest of the cast.
The movie is short, at a mere 97 minutes, but that, too, is part of its charms. It's concise; a Polaroid snapshot glimpse of a short time in Carter Webb's (Brody) life as he recovers from what seems like a devastating break-up, and when that stage is over, so is the film. I appreciated that about it. Too many movies, these days, seem to drag on with epilogue after epilogue. Here, I was given just enough. I left the movie satisfied, but still wondering what would come next.
And the soundtrack, to borrow a phrase, kicked fucking ass. Each and every song lifted from my own collection. Each perfectly underscoring the mood of the scene, while never becoming a crutch, never outshining the actors.
The film was directed by Jon Kasdan, son of Lawrence Kasdan, and proved once again the old adage that the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. I've been a longtime admirer of the elder Kasdan's work (Mumford ranks among the top of my list of those little-seen titles that everyone should see), and it is clear that his son has taken careful notes. I can't recommend this movie enough. Go see it.
Even if it means sitting in a theater all by your lonesome.
I almost didn't review this movie. Not because I didn't love it (because I did, boy howdy, did I ever), but rather because I kind of thought that a movie like Grindhouse came with a built-in audience, if not several of them. You got your Rodriguez, you got your Tarantino, zombies, hot chicks, double feature. What could go wrong?
Planet Terror was, unsurprisingly, my favourite of the two films. Rodriguez was in prime form, getting back to his gore-splattered, From Dusk Til Dawn roots. It is fabulously vile, at once both hilarious and horrifying throughout. Rodriguez has a knack for casting, and Planet Terror's ensemble is pitch perfect from the leads to the very smallest roles (a particular tip of the cap to Naveen Andrews for his). Rose McGowan was particularly fine as Cherry Darling, the plucky one-legged, ex-stripper. You don't really expect to see much in the way of character development in what's billed as an exploitation film, and, well, you don't here, really. But between Rodriguez's words and McGowan's delivery, Cherry winds up feeling genuine, despite the sensationalism (gun leg! gun leg!!!) that would indicate otherwise. By the end, the film has taken on an epic scope, that lives up to the promise made by the title and then some.
Death Proof, while highly entertaining, wasn't as strong of a win for me. Part of that is no doubt due to the bar raised by his previous efforts. While it was a brilliant execution of an, on the surface, exploitation standard (hot girls meet bad man, hijinx ensue), it didn't feel quite as tight in terms of both plot and dialog as I'm used to in a Tarantino film. Bits of it felt forced. That said, the climatic car chase makes an instant race to the short list of the best car chases in cinematic history, and the finale more than forgives any missteps along the way.
Sandwiched between them are trailers for fake coming attractions and retro commercials for "local" businesses.
Coming in just over three hours, Grindhouse is an event. A fantastic, bloody, event. Which is why the real horror that I'm currently experiencing is over the rumors that they're talking about splitting the film into two, due to a "weak" opening box office (it came in fourth), forcing my hand to review what should be a review-proof film.
Don't let studio paranoia steer you away from this masterpiece. Opening on Easter weekend was clearly a mistake. As marvelous as it is, Grindhouse is not exactly the movie you bring Gramma and the kids to. Easter is a family weekend, plain and simple. Adding into that the few screens it opened (word on the web is that my experience of one or two screens per theater was not a local phenomenon) on, it's no wonder its numbers weren't higher.
On the off chance they're serious, do yourself a favor. See Grindhouse the way it was meant to be seen, as an event. An experience. Drown in it. You won't be sorry.
That's right, folks. Oscar Noms have been announced, and aside from a jawdroppingly glaring omission of an acting nom for DiCaprio in The Departed, and evidence of what was apparently slim pickins in the best actress category, it's actually... a really good lineup. Well played, Academy. Well played.
Further thoughts and predictions to come as I get my wits about me.
Er... I mean, Globes.
I know I usually do a commentary piece for these things, but I'm still reeling from the alarming proliferation of togas and the indescribable injustice done unto Leonardo DiCaprio. So instead, I leave you in the capable hands of Defamer.
Let's hope the Oscars are better.
The Departed
The Descent
Children of Men
Casino Royale
Blood Diamond
Honorable Mention: Marie Antoinette, Black Dahlia, The Illusionist, Thank You For Smoking, and Pirates of the Caribbean 2: Dead Man's Chest.
And with slots preserved for The Prestige, Babel, and The Painted Veil, which I anticipate being good, but have not yet seen.
Running with Scissors was, well, interesting. Kind of. It started out that way, in a very definite sense. The film's best moments were the early ones, before it degenerated into lunacy that was just more painful to watch than entertaining. The entire second half consists solely of the movie ending. Over and over and over again. While I've had this complaint with other movies, it's generally been from the standpoint of "this could have been paced better." In most cases, I wouldn't actually want to see the film ended any earlier because valuable additions are made to the story, albeit in a manner that left something to be desired. However, in Running with Scissors, we're given nothing new. It's just anvil after anvil of "look, how strange" that just left me feeling kind of tired. The characters were, by and large, very unlikable across t he board. They weren't particularly funny or pleasant. There didn't seem to be a good deal of style or charm in their characterizations. It was just a vaguely detached slice of an oddball existence that left me rather cold.
This is not to say the movie isn't without it's charms. The early scenes between Annette Bening and Alec Baldwin are charged with that classic Hollywood bickering energy (albeit with a bit of a twist), and their first meeting with Brian Cox's Dr. Finch is priceless. Gwyneth Paltrow's all-too brief turn as Finch's eldest daughter was convincing, and left me wishing she had considerably more screentime. In general, however, the film's depiction of insanity was more repetitive than anything. Potentially worth watching for fans of quirk, but you won't miss out if you wait for DVD or cable.
Once upon a time, I knew Sofia Coppola only as a little girl acting very poorly in the third installment of a trilogy that should have probably only been a twofer. Years later she released a movie called The Virgin Suicides, which I watched with a skeptical eye and disliked immensely (though have since learned to appreciate for the well-crafted, haunting piece that it is). In 2003, she released Lost in Translation, which instantly became one of my personal favourite movies, and will no doubt go down in cinematic history as one of the first great triumphs of the new century.
Why do I bring this up? Well, because Marie Antoinette is as much about Sofia Coppola as it is its title character. This is, definitively, the film of an auteur, and you can feel Coppola's presence and influence in each and every frame. Every word. Every note of music. There is, compared to many movies, minimal dialog, but at no point does the film feel spare. The rich location (filmed not on a set, but in Versailles itself), the musical choices (criticized by many, but evocatively perfect to my ear), the pacing, lighting, framing; all serve to bring about an almost visceral connection to the characters and period.
Of course, one would be remiss not to at least mention the acting, as it was a treasure as well. Kirsten Dunst is perfect as Marie Antoinette. No ands, ifs, or buts about it. She just... glows. It's cheesy to say it, and that makes me loathe to do so, but she does. She's radiant and charming and heartbreaking and just plain glows. Jason Schwartzman, I actually doubted from the trailers, but in the film as a whole, was quite convincing. Judy Davis was, to borrow a phrase, fabulously douchey as the Contesse de Noailles. And Rose Byrne was a delight as lady in waiting Duchesse de Polignac, bringing more energy and light to the screen than I've seen from her in some time.
Definitely see this movie, and definitely do so on the big screen. Your eyes and ears will thank you.
There's a new addition to my top five of the year, and it should surprise no one that the credit is due to one Mr. Martin Scorcese.
Based on Wai Keung Lau's Internal Affairs, The Departed tells the story of two state cops in Boston, one working undercover in a gang, the other working as a mole for the gang. Beyond that? I won't say much more. If you haven't seen the original (which I had not), the suspense is tremendous, and the movie is filled with subtle twists and turns that keep you guessing without the jarring, cheated feel of "OMG, SURPRISE!" that some films resort to.
What I can tell you is that Scorcese's direction is top notch. He adopts Boston as his own, drawing you into its streets, from Beacon Hill to Southie, with a gritty, blue aesthetic. The sense of place is organic and real, just like in so many of his New York films. It is a rather long film, but it doesn't feel like it for even a second. The pacing is relentless, wasting not one of it's 152 minutes.
William Monahan's script is tremendous. Brutal and unforgiving when it has to be, but with enough moments of levity to not crush you with the oh-so-serious of it all. It strikes a perfect balance, and sets the groundwork for some amazing performances.
The actors take full advantage of this. Scorcese is a real actor's director, and it shows in the performances he evokes from his stars. Leonardo DiCaprio leads the film with his role as the undercover cop, and if he doesn't get an Oscar nod out of the deal, then the Academy has its collective head farther up its butt than I ever imagined possible. Now, I make no excuses for the fact that I've been a DiCaprio fan for a long time. Somehow, Titanic's success made a lot of people dismiss him as a teeny-bopper flash in the pan. But look at his body of work. Look at his film choices, and who he's worked with. Steven Spielberg. Danny Boyle. Woody Allen. Baz Luhrmann. Lasse Hallström. Sam Raimi (which, okay, The Quick and the Dead kind of sucked, but DiCaprio's performance was strong!). He's been smarter about his roles than just about any actor his age. And these last three films with Scorcese? Forget about it. He's one of the finest actors of his generation, and he keeps getting better. He's genius in this role, managing to outshine even Jack Nicholson, which is a next to impossible feat, especially in Nicholson's role here, which is see-saws between bone-chilling villainy and hilarity (which somehow makes the bone-chilling even chillier). This is another performance that we should see getting a glimpse of the gold in March. The pair are backed with stellar supporting performances from Matt Damon, Mark Wahlberg, Martin Sheen, Ray Winstone, Alec Baldwin, and Vera Farmiga.
The Departed exemplifies moviemaking at its finest, and should not be missed.
People hate this movie, or at best, seem to be apathetic.
And... I don't get that. I loved The Black Dahlia. I was giddy for like two and a half hours after watching it. It made me want to go back and watch every Brian De Palma movie I own and bask in the warm glow of a man whose sense of visual style seems tailor-made for my very own eyes. I loved this movie.
The acting? Top notch. Hilary Swank, who I never really liked, was at her gorgeous, sexy best in a classic femme fatale role. Mia Kirschner was absolutely heartbreaking as the titular corpse. Aaron Eckhart was perfect for his detective role, as hard-boiled and on-the-edge as a person could hope for, and looking the part to a flawless degree. Early in the film, I had my doubts about Josh Hartnett, whose look and mannerisms seemed a bit too modern for the rich saturation of 40s speech and style, but he got into the swing of things by the second act, and by the end, you'd have sworn he was born with a fedora on top of his head. My one complaint came in the form of Scarlett Johansson, who I normally enjoy. The delivery of her dialog seemed way, way off. Too modern, too East Coast, and too apathetic for her role as a plucky survivor. She had the perfect look; the costuming, hair, and make-up were stunning, but every time she spoke, it distracted completely.
The cinematography is the real star, however, with sets and editing to bring you instantly to that place and time that is something akin to Camelot for movie fans. It's film noir in technicolor, gritty and dark, but with a greased-lens glossiness and brilliant colour where it needed it. Everyone smoked, and a haze hung over just about every scene. With De Palma's old school editing techniques, you not only feel as if you're watching a movie about the forties, you feel like you're watching a movie during the forties.
Some have taken exception to the way the story jumps from mystery to mystery, as the Black Dahlia's death is not the only murder in Tinsel Town. However, at no point did I feel the film was scattered. It was anchored with the characters, with Hartnett's portrayal of Bucky, of the way the whole world seems to be unravelling and out of control. Yes, the events in the film were all over the place, but the film itself remained cohesive and tight throughout.
While nowhere near as good as L.A. Confidential (a film with which obvious comparisons will be made, due to the James Ellroy connection, as well as similarities in plot and setting; murder in Hollywood's golden age and whatnot), I really don't think it was trying to be. L.A. Confidential was a movie about character and honor, about fighting your way through the muck of corruption to find and reveal the truth, no matter the cost. The Black Dahlia... was not about those things. It's about sex and style and sinking into that muck and rolling around instead of climbing out of it. It's pure, unapologetic pulp, and to that end, Brian De Palma succeeds unerringly.
The Wicker Man: Anyone who knows me, knows I love Nicolas Cage. Always have. So, needless to say, I was excited for this one, because a) Nicolas Cage, b) horror movie, and c) Pacific Northwest (which tends towards the wonderful when it comes to creepy settings). I wasn't expecting brilliance, but I was expecting to be thoroughly entertained.
Unfortunately, I was not.
This is not to say that the movie was completely devoid of merit. Director Neil LaBute has quiet, subtle way with his direction that can be very unsettling and effective, the cinematography was stunning, and some of the performances were quite good (Nicolas Cage's, as always, as well as Molly Parker, whose brief turn as the island's school teacher was a wicked treat). Other performances, however, flagged. Kate Beahan, lovely though she may be, was completely unconvincing in her plight, and Leelee Sobieski's presence was poorly executed in a role that seemed inexplicable and unnecessary in the first place, one of many problems in a script fraught with problems. The required suspension of disbelief went far beyond even my breaking point, and the "surprising" twists and turns were anything but. There was no real connection to any of the characters, leaving the viewer pretty ambivalent about the suspenseless conclusion. Worth a watch on cable, but save yourself nine bucks and see something else on your next trip to the theater. Maybe something like...
The Illusionist: I loved this movie. It did so many things right that I find it difficult to focus on its few missteps. It's a stunning picture, visually, painted in muted sepia and blue tones, evoking from frame one a great sense of the period. The costuming shares in this aesthetic, beautiful and rich while remaining subdued. Accenting this is the occasional vignetting of the screen, making you feel as if the physical film itself is as aged as the story.
Edward Norton's turn as Eisenheim, the title illusionist in question, was nothing short of brilliant. Simultaneously understated and powerful, he sucks you straight into a character that you really know very little about. I could see it happening where such a reserved, private character (who, make no mistake, remains so throughout the film) might seem inaccessible or distant to viewers, but Norton's performance and Neil Burger's direction bring you directly into his world. Paul Giamatti is tremendously good as the curious chief inspector, charged with bringing Eisenheim down, carefully balancing his sense of duty to the prince with a sense of moral right, creating a very believable character. Rufus Sewell is a bit over the top as the aforementioned prince, stopping just shy of twirling his evil moustache in the midst of his plotting, and Jessica Biel is (though lovely) a bit bland, but both performances remain healthily adequate and their shortcomings do not detract from the film as a whole.
In a film called The Illusionist, one would be disappointed if there weren't a few twists and turns along the way, and there definitely were a handful here. For my part, I felt they were a bit predictable, but the movie's genius comes in in that it doesn't matter. The what isn't as important as the how, and that suspension remains tremendously high throughout. This movie won an instant spot on my top five of the year, and I highly recommend seeing it in the theaters, particularly before it's nudged from the limelight by it's bigger budget cousin, The Prestige, later this fall.
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