Whiplash - Movie Review by Monte Yazzie

 

Whiplash

Dir: Damien Chazelle

Starring: Miles Teller, J.K. Simmons, Melissa Benoist, and Paul Reiser

106 Minutes Rated R

By Monte Yazzie of TheCodaFilms

Names like Miles Davis, Art Tatum, John Coltrane, and Charles Mingus introduced me to the world of jazz music. “The Monster” by Gene Krupa and Buddy Rich, two of the best jazz drummers of all time, was the song that enlightened my ears towards percussion lead jazz music. Buddy Rich's solo in “The Monster” is something impressive, just like director Damien Chazelle’s film “Whiplash”. The fitting title describes in more ways than one the tonal quality of the film, which is harsh, unexpected, and at moments painful. Lead by impressive performances from both Miles Teller and J.K. Simmons, Chazelle has crafted a standout film.

Andrew Neyman (Teller) is an aspiring student at a prestigious east coast music conservatory. He is introduced playing his instrument of choice, the drums. Andrew is a first year student, relinquished to turning sheet music for older students and practicing countless hours in wait for his opportunity to showcase his skill. Opportunity ferociously comes in the form of Terence Fletcher (Simmons), an abrasive instructor of the top jazz ensemble at the school who utilizes terrifying methods of education. Fletcher sees potential in Andrew and challenges him through vehement verbal abuse and all-around intimidation. Andrew, wanting to be the best, becomes obsessed in the search for perfection.

How do we motivate each other? Positive reinforcement or a supportive word of encouragement are two ways? If kindness and heartfelt sentiments, amid a swell of uplifting music, are what you are looking for in ‘Whiplash”, then you may have watched the wrong trailer because the closest you’ll come to any of those qualities would be heartfelt sentiments…meaning obscenity laced shouting from the heart and felt forcefully across the face with a slap sentiments. J.K. Simmons gives R. Lee Ermey’s “Full Metal Jacket” character, Sergeant Hartman, a run for his money as the vicious, some may utilize bullying, instructor Terence Fletcher. With motivations that are never fully explained or completely identified, the viewer is left to examine the critical methods of abuse for purpose. Is a certain amount of unrelenting push needed to reveal potential?  Or is it simply the flawed shortcomings of a miserable man? These questions prove an interesting dichotomy when matched against a character, Andrew, whose talents boast unmatched potential but whose character also craves acceptance and reward. Chazelle handles this aspect exceptionally in many of the scenes between the two figures.

Miles Teller continues to impress. His performance displays the progression of his characters consuming obsession. Practicing to the extent of bleeding and cutting off relationships before they have chance to develop. Andrew wants to be remembered as one the greats, which he points out aggressively in one scene during dinner with friends and family. Chazelle does a fantastic job of playing Fletcher and Andrew off against each other; the tension is near unbearable in parts. Even before we see Fletcher in full profanity laden, homophobic and racially charged assault, the viewer is offered acknowledgement of his control through a scene that shows his intimidation by the expressions of a class full of students who stand with heads down in silent fear and anticipation. J.K. Simmons is terrifying and fantastic.

Familiar themes are present however, where other films would offer predictable setups and conclusions, “Whiplash” keeps an unstable narrative tone. Though conventions inevitable take over and the abuse becomes so over-the-top it feels far-fetched, Chazelle still maneuvers the film with skillful guidance accompanied by exceptional performances, making “Whiplash” as bold and confident as the jazz music that supports it.

Monte’s Rating 4.50 out of 5.00

Whiplash - Movie Review by Michael Clawson

Whiplash  

Starring Miles Teller, J.K. Simmons and Paul Reiser

Directed by Damien Chazelle

From Sony Pictures Classics

Rated R

106 minutes

by Michael Clawson of Terminal Volume

In an often-repeated story in Whiplash, when the saxophone legend Charlie Parker was a young novice he had a cymbal thrown at his head by Jo Jones, who was irritated at his playing style. Parker would shake it off and eventually become one of the most important players in musical history.

The first time this story is told, it’s slanted toward Charlie Parker, the young punk with the determined spirit. The second time it’s slanted toward Jo Jones, the pig-headed teacher pushing his student to his true potential. The beauty of Whiplash is that it’s actually about both men — the master and the apprentice. The road it takes to bring those two sides together is a hard slog through turbulent waters, but it’s worth it in Damien Chazelle’s Whiplash, one of the best movies of 2014.

We begin with the apprentice, Andrew (Miles Teller), who’s at a prestigious music school in New York City. The eager young drummer is working his way up through the ranks of the school’s band programs when he meets the school’s head instructor, a stubborn monster by the name of Fletcher (J.K. Simmons). We get lots of practice time with Fletcher, who runs his rehearsal space like it’s North Korea. In an early scene he torments one trombone player who may be out of tune. The poor kid is assaulted with homophobic slurs, threats of violence and Fletcher fuming in his face. The college-age kid eventually starts crying, a common occurrence under Fletcher’s direction. Andrew thinks he has this drum thing all figured out, until Fletcher smacks him into his place as an alternate. But Andrew doesn't give up. He practices at night, listens to music of the greats, sleeps in his rehearsal space and dumps a girlfriend who was likely going to ask for more time from him. His practice routine is so intense that blood pours from open blisters on palms and fingers. Bandages just slip off the raw wounds. But the practice pays off and Andrew gets a spot on the jazz band

But then trouble really starts as Fletcher lays into his musicians. In one especially awful session, he forces three of his drummers to do a double-time swing until they get it right. Hours later, one of them is victorious. He tells the losers, “Alternates, clean the blood of my drumkit!” Then, after all that comes a kicker: “OK, now we can start practicing.” The audience I saw Whiplash with groaned audibly at his cruelty. This is the norm: Fletcher intimidates his students, terrifies them, belittles them, and grinds their ambition into a fine powder. In one scene, he’s seen making nice with a student, asking about his parents, inquiring about his past. He’s gathering ammunition. Sure enough, one missed note later — “a tonal catastrophe” — and the kid’s entire family history is being heaved at like a battering ram. I haven’t seen torture this cruel since 120 Days of Sodom.

Simmons plays a monster brilliantly. He’s so often the nice guy, the kind dad, the affable boss … and here is a contemptible jerk and sadist. Awards season is going to be nice to Simmons. He has one line that sums up his cynicism and contempt for compliments: “There are no two words in the English language worse than ‘good job.’” Teller, it should be said, is also fantastic. He’s a drummer himself, which allows Chazelle to film his hands and to show wide shots with Teller behind the kit. It’s a nice touch to see the actor doing the hard work, and Teller’s humble presence makes it all the better.

My experience with phenomenal drumming is the Buddy Rich drum-off with Animal on The Muppet Show, so take my praise with a grain of salt, but the drumming is electric. I loved all the little insert shots — close-ups of hands, tuning keys, drumheads, bloody palms, and vibrating cymbals — that bring us up close and personal with the instrument. The soundtrack, with its machine-gun salvos of snare and uptempo jazz numbers, is also wonderful. Whiplash is a brutal exercise in obsession, talent and determination. You’ll keep wondering how much Andrew will take before he snaps. He takes more abuse than I thought he would, but he does snap — everyone under Fletcher eventually does. After a big blow-up at a competition, the film shifts gears into something monumentally more powerful. As Andrew ponders his next step, he meets Fletcher again in a different environment and starts to see things from his point of view. This is where we hear the Charlie Parker story again. And it frames the last act of the movie, which is a triumph of epic proportions.

It ends with an ambush, a double-cross, a public execution, a retaliatory strike and a drum solo to end all drum solos. I’ve never had so many ups and downs in a film this year, or any year from the past five. When it was over I had to catch my breath.

And then I wanted to do it all again. This is the film to beat this year.

Stonehearst Asylum - Movie Review by Michael Clawson

Stonehearst Asylum  

Starring Jim Sturgess, Ben Kingsley, Michael Caine, Kate Beckinsale and David Thewlis

Directed by Brad Anderson

From Icon Productions

Rated PG-13

112 minutes

by Michael Clawson of Terminal Volume

Stonehearst Asylum reveals its wicked sense of humor early: A doctor is given a tour of an insane asylum, and during the tour he’s introduced to a patient who’s allowed to pretend he’s a horse. Why not cure him, the doctor asks. “What, and make a miserable man out of a happy horse.”

Here is a movie that does not excel, but it has heart and pluck and charisma. Oh, and making matters more interesting, Stonehearst is a gothic thriller set in chilly castle for the criminally insane. Yeah, it’s creepy charmer.

The doctor here is Edward Newgate (Jim Sturgess) and he’s come to Stonehearst in the English countryside to learn about curing mental patients, who are still at this point in modern medicine called “lunatics,” which is one better than what another character calls them — “inebriates and chronic masturbators.” Newgate is quickly taken under the wing of Dr. Silas Lamb (Ben Kingsley), who runs the facility under some curious rules, including one that allows patients to come to staff dinners to socialize in their bare feet.

As Newgate learns about the facility and its many dark corners, he realizes the film’s first big joke: the lunatics are running the asylum. Now, I say joke, but this is no comedy, yet I couldn’t help but laugh as events unfolded to reveal one absurdity after another. Patients are injected with heroin, given drought-causing waterboarding exercises, thrown in this ridiculous dizzy-chair contraption, and allowed to determine their own treatment, even if that treatment is none at all. When one character is threatened with something called a “pelvic massage” I wasn’t sure if I should laugh or not. (I did.) the whole movie is like this — vaguely hilarious, if also menacing and shrouded in doom.

Newgate takes a special interest in Eliza Graves (Kate Beckinsale), a beautiful ear-biter and eye-gouger whose husband has put a price on her head if she’s discovered. Behind Newgate as he attempts to rescue Graves is Dr. Lamb, an even more mysterious Dr. Salt (Michael Caine) and a groundskeeper named Mickey Finn (David Thewlis at his most vile). And if you caught those names — Newgate, Graves, Lamb, Salt — you’ll be forgiven for thinking this is an psychological allegory.

The movie is drawn from an Edgar Allen Poe story, though I suspect loosely. It does have Poe’s devilish sense for humor. In an early scene, we’re told the asylum is home to the finest lunatics in all of Europe. “Here look at this man,” Lamb says, “he comes from a wealthy family that owns a vast train empire.” But why is he in the asylum? “Because he suffers no interest in trains.” Yeah, that sounds like Poe or maybe even Alfred Hitchcock.

Stonehearst, directed by Brad Anderson (The Machinist) from a script by Joe Gangemi, taps on all the predictable story beats, and some that aren’t so predictable. You know you’re in for a whopper of a finale when they trot the horses through the asylum kitchen. I will admit I expected a bigger twist at the end, something perhaps on par with Sam Fuller’s Shock Corridor or even One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest. Instead, it fizzles.

It’s all absurdly silly and at the same time deathly serious. That makes for a strange dynamic, for sure, but I was never bored, which is high praise for this genre.

Stonehearst Asylum - Movie Review by Eric Forthun

Stonehearst Asylum

 

Starring Jim Sturgess, Kate Beckinsale, Ben Kingsley, Michael Caine, David Thewlis, and Brendan Gleeson

Directed by Brad Anderson

Rated PG-13

Run Time: 112 minutes

Genre: Thriller

Opens October 24th

By Eric Forthun of Cinematic Shadows

 

Stonehearst Asylum is based on an 1844 short story by Edgar Allan Poe, foreshadowing a psychological/gothic horror film in the heart of England with pessimism and dread. So why is it that this film adaptation, with an all-star cast including Ben Kingsley, Michael Caine, and Jim Sturgess, never elevates its intriguing set-up past anything more than red herrings and confusion? Visually the film is a treat and filled with sepia and black-tinted shots, lavishly decorated and costumed. Edgar Allan Poe would be proud of its eye for the times. But it's confounding in how deliberately it avoids establishing its own voice, instead feeling too light-hearted and comedic at times while simultaneously mixing horror-thriller with a whodunit-type caper that gets introduced in the final moments of the film. The delivered surprises are inconsistent in their effectiveness, with the first delivering a solid punch while the one in the final scenes of the film feels woefully overdone and aimless. Director Brad Anderson's film is a convoluted mess.

The film focuses on a medical school graduate named Edward Newgate (Jim Sturgess) who takes up a position at Stonehearst Lunatic Asylum. He wants to study asylum medicine because he admires the idea of helping those that truly need it. The doctor on staff, Silas Lamb (Ben Kingsley), believes in a different type of care for the patients, keeping them from their supposedly "helpful" medicine and instead letting them run their own course. It's admittedly working, with music acting as a cure for hysterical housewife Eliza Graves (Kate Beckinsale), a woman that bit off her husband's ear. She used to be treated in improper, often exploitative ways, as evidenced by an opening scene with a doctor (Brendan Gleeson) showing how to manipulate her "intimate" areas to subdue her hysterics. Suffice to say, when Silas talks about how advanced medicinal studies have become and far from barbaric they now are, the audience cannot help but snicker at the thought of these advancements. And as Edward begins his stay in Stonehearst, he realizes something is truly off with how things are being run, and that something is afoot.

Twists run abound in Stonehearst Asylum, with the most effective emerging as its central plot point a half hour into the film. The problem with much of the film's set-up, though, and its constant switches in tone and who to believe, is that it makes for a convoluted story that relies on absurdity and shock value more so than reveals of character and motivation. The prisoners begging for escape, including one played by Michael Caine, add for some inventive role reversal that becomes even furthered in the second half. But here's my biggest issue: why does the film have to provide a last-minute twist that not only doesn't make much sense but also undermines the foundation of its protagonist? There's an outstanding cast here that elevates the sadistic, tonally odd material to oddly intriguing levels, particularly as Kingsley and Sturgess occupy much of the screen time. The former is always phenomenal. Beckinsale is always a talent but her role choices lately have been unexciting. The film simply underutilizes its talents on screen and never fully takes advantage of its gothic horror elements, resulting in an underwhelming feature.

John Wick - Movie Review by Michael Clawson

John Wick  

Starring Keanu Reeves, Michael Nyqvist, Alfie Allen, Willem Dafoe, Ian McShane, Lance Reddick and Dean Winters.

Directed by David Leitch and Chad Stahelski

From Lionsgate

Rated R

96 minutes by Michael Clawson of Terminal Volume

Keanu Reeves has turned into his own meme. Sad Keanu. Google it, it’s very sad. John Wick is a movie version of Sad Keanu, but with guns. And more point-blank headshots than the photo booth at the DMV. Enough that they start to have a numbing sensation, a side effect that comes in handy for John Wick’s plodding second half. The film starts very dark: former hitman John Wick is burying his wife, who died suddenly from an illness, as opposed to a bullet like everyone else in this story. Before she keeled over, the sweet wife arranged to have a dog delivered to John on the day of her funeral. The puppy — with his droopy little eyes and puppy-dog tail and his scurrying paws — arrives and immediately alters John’s mood for the better. Things are looking up after all. But we’ve already established that bad things (and Sad Keanu) happen in this movie, things that end with point-blank gunshots to the face. These things transpire because the puppy has to die. It just has to go. And go the puppy does at the hands of Iosef Tarasov (Alfie Allen, aka Theon Freakin’ Greyjoy), the dim-witted son of a Russian mobster who is too cocky and arrogant to even know that he just blew up the world of the wrong guy. So all that is just setup. Here is the plot: John Wick murders an entire mob family as payback for the death of his puppy. Now, that sounds monotonous and dull, and it mostly is, especially in John Wick’s darker later episodes. But for large swaths of the first half this violent and gritty action thriller is a rather amusing comic adventure. I especially enjoyed the kingpin’s answer to why a low-level car thief would punch the kinpin’s son. He killed John Wick’s dog, the grunt says. “Oh,” the kingpin mumbles. Never before has “oh” meant so much. In those two letters he’s summed up his entire fate. Other scenes are just absurdly dark, so much that you can’t help but laugh. After a particularly violent shoot-out, John calls for a hitman cleaning crew. The team arrives with all sorts of cleaning devices, including one big burly guy who only carries a squeegee. The crew Saran wraps the bodies into neat little take-out packages. And off they go as if wanton murder never took place. I also appreciated how everyone in the film knew who John Wick was, because he was just that legendary a hitman. At one point a local cop shows up to a shootout and John barely has to explain himself before the cop tips his hat and whistles away as if he never saw anything. Murder machine John eventually gets stuck in a gory loop of violent head-exploding gunfights. At first his cruelty is oddly humorous, like when he wounds a bad guy, lets him cringe and bleed on the floor as he reloads his own gun to only blast him in the head. The joke here is that the threat was already isolated, but John takes his time to pop the guy in his dome because he’s some kind of obsessive completionist. This macabre brand of humor fades quickly as the headshots start stacking up and up and up. How many is too many? John Wick seems to be grasping for an answer. David Leitch and Chad Stahelski’s film employs a wide variety of top-tier talent, especially if you watch HBO’s programming. The Wire’s Clarke Peters and Lance Reddick play two pros in a hotel, Deadwood’s Ian McShane is a club owner with information to sell, Newsroom’s Thomas Sadoski plays the befuddled cop, and Allen, Game of Throne’s organ-less imp Theon Greyjoy, plays the puppy killer. Other larger performances include Willem Dafoe, John Leguizamo, Michael Nyqvist and Dean Winters, whose work on TV is also goofily entertaining — he is the Mayhem insurance salesman and 30 Rock’s Beeper King. Altogether, this is a nice cast and the way the film is structured, I was never quite sure who was going to turn up next. I just wish the film could hold my attention longer. As the body count rose, my attention drifted. The film looks snazzy, and Reeves plays Sad Keanu quite well, I just couldn’t punch through all the arbitrary killing, which was novel in small little dashes, just not something I could watch uninterrupted for a whole movie.

John Wick - Movie Review by Eric Forthun

John Wick  

Starring Keanu Reeves, Willem Dafoe, Adrianne Palicki, Bridget Monayhan, John Leguziamo, Michael Nyqvist, and Alfie Allen

Directed by David Leitch and Chad Stahelski

Rated R

Run Time: 101 minutes

Genre: Action/Thriller

Opens October 24th

By Eric Forthun of Cinematic Shadows

Simplicity shouldn't work as strongly as it does with John Wick, but the film rides its thin plot to admirably entertaining territory. The film is the first that Keanu Reeves has led since the domestic failure 47 Ronin, a sign that his star power may be dwindling with mainstream audiences or there may just be a growing ambivalence toward older action stars. But Reeves, now 50, brings a humanity to his title character that surprises with how authentic and grounded it makes the film. Granted, there's an implausibility to the motivations behind the central premise and how flimsy it holds up throughout the feature, yet it never distracts from the dazzling violence put on display. It's not particularly bloody or overdone, simply well executed and never dull. Characters face the consequences of such extreme acts of violence and our hero is flawed and weakened in his emotionally troubled state. The film, ultimately, understands how to stylistically overpower substance and use simply drawn characters in gripping, visually arresting ways.

The film focuses on John Wick (Keanu Reeves), a recent widow that lives in a nice New Jersey home all by himself. His wife, Helen (Bridget Moynahan), haunts his memories as he watches old videos of her and grasps the idea that she's really gone forever. The first five minutes of the film establish this beautifully, using little dialogue and interruption in favor of lingering, quiet shots that emphasize Wick's loneliness and the isolation that consumes him. It's powerful storytelling that lays the groundwork for the film. One night, a puppy arrives at his door as a late gift from his wife, who while dying of cancer realized that John would need something to get through his days. It not only expedites his mourning but also helps him feel connected with his wife once more. Sure enough, that all disappears when Russian mobsters led by Iosef Tarasov (Alfie Allen) break into his house, steal his 1969 Mustang, and kill his dog for desired effect. As a web of his past begins to unravel and his former boss, Viggo (Michael Nyqvist), reveals his place in the matter, John goes on a revenge rampage and will stop at nothing to ensure he finds some sort of solstice.

I would say there's more to the story that I'm not revealing, but for the most part, the film's plot ends there. There's a mysterious organization that plays a focal part in the film called the Continental that allows the narrative to explore its more self-aware, comedic elements. Inherently, a story this barebones must employ some compelling characterizations. So it's refreshing to see how John Wick uses its stylistic leanings to create a unique, strangely passive villain while simultaneously making the core struggle of the film work around its supporting cast. There are plenty of jokes about how people don't realize who they are messing with, in particular with Iosef, while other incidents have people around the community letting John do his thing and not interfering. Loyalty and connections play a huge part in the film's underlying themes. The supporting turns from Nyqvist and Willem Dafoe give the film strong character actors that work well in this seedy, beautifully photographed world. Directors David Leitch and Chad Stahelski have made an action film with not only heart, and not only strong characters, but also compulsively watchable set pieces that build upon its world. John Wick is some terrifically exciting, if simplistic, cinema.

John Wick - Movie Review by Monte Yazzie

 

John Wick

Dir: Chad Stahelski Starring: Keanu Reeves, Michael Nyqvist, Willem Dafoe, Alfie Allen, Dean Winters, Adrianne Palicki, Lance Reddick, John Leguizamo, Ian McShane, and Bridget Moynahan

101 Minutes Rated R

By Monte Yazzie (www.thecodafilms.com)

Be careful whom you cross. That’s the introducing theme to the most recent entry into the revenge genre with director Chad Stahelski’s film “John Wick”. Seemingly influenced by the films of John Woo, Stahelski pulls no punches with the breakneck, bullet ridden action sequences. Writer Derek Kolstad offers some of the best material in years for star Keanu Reeves, who seems tailored for walking into a room full of armed tough guys with a calm, “no problem” personality. “John Wick” is a worthy entry into the revenge genre, it’s not heavy on pointless plot or twisting narrative transitions but instead relishes in the mayhem that moves it from scene to scene.

John Wick (Keanu Reeves) is a former hitman for hire. Retired, John lives a normal life with his wife (Bridget Moynahan) until she suddenly dies. John is alone but an unexpected gift from his wife before she died arrives at his doorstep, a puppy. John is given an opportunity to continue his normal existence, but a group of young gangsters come and take the last piece of hope in his life. John returns for vengeance to the life he barely escaped, guns in hand.

There is nothing complicated about “John Wick”. The simplistic, narrative design gives you all the major plot points in the first 15 minutes. From then on the film trudges into familiar revenge film territory. John in a nice suit armed with weapons and bad guys with heavy accents lining up for John to unceremoniously knock down. However, writer Derek Kolstad adds some unique features to accommodate the distinctive formula. John isn’t the only hitman in New York City, there is an assassin society that keeps their secret and offers safe housing, also added are a cleanup crew that takes care of the messy aftermath, and special currency that pays for services.  The narrative nicely composes the settings and atmosphere of the film, making the world seem like something out of a comic book.

Keanu Reeves is a perfect fit for this role. A mix of calm and collected while also displaying the personality of an ordinary and regular guy, Reeves has been playing this character for some time and he does it well when the material is suited for it. There are some great cameos from the always-reliable Willem Dafoe as a fellow hitman and Ian McShane as the manager of the assassin safe house.

“John Wick” functions best when it embraces its B-movie ambitions. Keanu Reeves surprisingly holds the film together with his performance. Though in moments the film’s no nonsense approach has a tendency to slow the pacing significantly and scenes have an inclination to feel more like rehashes in new settings.  After being asked a recurring question throughout the film John Wick exclaims, “yeah, I’m thinking I’m back”. That line of dialogue is a telling statement for a film that is bound to find a sequel, which I would more than likely to sit through again.

Monte’s Rating / 3.50 out of 5.00

23 Blast - Movie Review by Eric Forthun

23 Blast  

Starring Mark Hapka, Bram Hoover, Stephen Lang, Max Adler, Alexa PenaVega, and Dylan Baker

Directed by Dylan Baker

Rated PG-13

Run Time: 98 minutes

Genre: Sports Drama

Opens October 24th

By Eric Forthun of Cinematic Shadows

23 Blast tells the most improbably, shockingly true story I've seen on the big screen. Tell me if you've heard this one before: a high school football star suddenly suffers from a sinus infection spurred by a rare disease that causes irreversible total blindness, forcing him to leave school and his team, only to return later on as a strong moral presence and a newfound member of the team. Yeah, that same old story. Yet despite that admittedly inspiring narrative plucked straight from real life, the story overdoes the sap and confuses the audience with its redeemable message surrounding supporting characters. The film prides itself on a few atypical moments for a sports film that demonstrates togetherness and equality in a shockingly subtle way, and the passion from first-time director Dylan Baker (best known as a character actor from TV shows like The Good Wife and films like Sam Raimi's Spider-Man trilogy) shines through the otherwise trite, predictable developments.

Travis Freeman (Mark Hapka) is a football star alongside his childhood friend, Jerry Baker (Bram Hoover). Jerry is the resident idiot with a heart of gold while Travis seems to be a morally sound, strong individual. He makes for a too perfect protagonist, so the sudden development that he goes blind puts the story on a shocking, abrupt turn. His parents, Larry (Dylan Baker) and Mary (Kim Zimmer), are saddened by the news and cannot fathom how their son's future will be affected. His football prospects especially, but more importantly his future ability to navigate the world freely. Travis's girlfriend leaves him when seeing him in his fragile state, leaving his longtime crush Ashley (Alexa PenaVega) with the opportunity to finally spend quality time with him. Coach Farris (Stephen Lang) hates to see Travis's departure, and begins to realize that he can be utilized in other ways, as both a play caller and eventual player. Other players like Cameron Marshall (Max Adler) have problems with how the Coach and school are going about their treatment of Travis, leading to some schisms as him and Jerry grow distant.

The film is simplistic in its presentation of ideas and often spends too long on scenes that hold relatively little meaning. There's an exchange in a hospital room between Travis and Jerry that not only lasts too long, but turns into a clichéd montage where they do anything and everything in the hospital that constitute as fun and spontaneous. I genuinely disliked the film when it transpired into that territory. Yet there were surprisingly inventive developments in key scenes, mostly involving women. Take, for instance, a shining moment when Ashley, who was a football player at a pee-wee age with the boys, is forced to help Travis when he cannot cooperate with Jerry and Cameron when they begin training him to be a center. She teaches him patience but, perhaps more importantly, teaches him form and quality football play. It's rare to see a female character so knowledgeable about sports, and it's never been more refreshing. Dylan Baker's film, unfortunately, rarely uses these moments as insight into the world of sports, instead sprinkling elements of faith and teamwork into a narrative that hits every stop on the beaten path. 23 Blast has moments that showcase its potential, but it's too conventional and safe for its own good.

St. Vincent - Movie Review by Eric Forthun

St. Vincent  

Starring Bill Murray, Melissa McCarthy, Naomi Watts, Chris O'Dowd, and Terrence Howard

Directed by Theodore Melfi

Rated PG-13

Run Time: 103 minutes

Genre: Comedy

Opens October 17th

By Eric Forthun of Cinematic Shadows

Bill Murray carries St. Vincent with an affecting, sustained performance that resonates through the rudimentary material. He plays the titular Vincent, a misanthropic, bawdy, hedonistic, war veteran that lives by himself and perpetually falls into debt due to a gambling addiction. His bookie, played by Terrence Howard, warns him that his money is due in two weeks since they cannot wait any longer, while his hooker with a heart of gold, Daka (Naomi Watts), cannot provide her services any longer without getting the pay she needs. His life isn't going well. Then, a mother and son move in next door and everything starts to go well for Vincent. Maggie (Melissa McCarthy) and Oliver (Jaeden Lieberher) are recovering from a messy divorce and Maggie works long hours as a nurse, so Oliver ends up spending time with Vincent as he acts as an interim babysitter. He charges a respectable wage because, keep in mind, he cannot do charity work.

Vincent's a fickle man that doesn't take care of Oliver like a father would, or even like a crazy grandfather (probably a better descriptor). He feeds Oliver his last can of sardines while he feeds his cat high-quality pet food, and even takes Oliver out to bars while Vincent gets drunk and acts irresponsibly. Something happened in Vincent's past that dictates how he lives today, which provides a dramatic underlining for the film's structure. Theodore Melfi's film never takes a particularly fruitful or inventive narrative path, mostly aiming for broad, slapstick comedy that delivers modest laughs if only due to Murray's charm. I've seen Bill Murray play a lot of unique characters, ranging from an arrogant and egocentric weatherman (Groundhog Day) to a lonely, lost soul (Lost in Translation) to his wacky supporting turns over the past decade. This is Murray's first lead role since 2005, but it doesn't feel like he's missed a beat. He's dynamic and hits the dramatic notes well when the story requires its strange tonal shifts.

The supporting characters often define comedies like this, so it's a shame that they become a mixed bag of eclectic personalities. Naomi Watts plays an unnecessarily Russian prostitute whose accent sounds awful and never convincing. She's such a terrific actress that she shouldn't have been delegated to such ethnically insensitive fodder. Melissa McCarthy, on the other hand, provides an unique dramatic turn as Maggie, allowing her character to remain strong when she's clearly struggling, only to have a dramatic payoff when Oliver gets in trouble at school. There's an outstanding confessional that holds too long and grows weary, but remains effective. Chris O'Dowd might be the best of the bunch, teaching at a Catholic school that accepts all religions and provides some of the strongest context laughs of the year. He's on a fantastic run as of late with religious-themed roles, particularly after August's astounding Calvary. But St. Vincent uses these supporting characters to sporadically affecting lengths, mostly focusing on Vincent as a flawed, kind-hearted man that Murray makes something wholly unique. The emotions are explained in an onstage speech at the end, a cliché of the genre, but Melfi's film uses the magnetism of Murray to remain enjoyable and light.

Fury - Movie Review by Michael Clawson

Fury  

Starring Brad Pitt, Logan Lerman, Shia LaBeouf,Michael Peña and Joe Bernthal

Directed by David Ayer

From Columbia Pictures

Rated R

134 minutes

by Michael Clawson of Terminal Volume

Fury plays fast and loose with its military action, but never with its stars — the tanks.

The metal goliaths, featured heavily in David Ayer’s World War II epic, crunch into battle at a tedious pace and with the subtlety of, well, a smoke-belching tank. “Over there,” a soldier says pointing at a treeline, and off the tank goes to blast the bushes into yard mulch. The tanks turn and chug toward danger because that’s what they were designed to do — battering rams, roadblocks and troop shields. It does not make for the most plausible, nor exciting, action sequences. More on that later.

The film follows a tank crew during the final push through Germany before the fall of the Third Reich. It’s April 1945, weeks away from Hitler’s suicide, when the German people, including women and children, were told to defend the country until the very end. The tank, called Fury, is captained by Wardaddy (Brad Pitt), a battle-hardened Nazi-killer with a cool temperament. His crew includes Bible (Shia LaBeouf), Gordo (Michael Peña) and Grady (Joe Bernthal), and they are crudely jaded by war and its atrocities. They make the soldiers from Samuel Fuller’s The Big Red One look like Sunday School teachers.

The film shepherds us into the war with a surrogate, fresh-faced teen Norman Ellison (Logan Lerman), who has been assigned to Fury from a cushy position at headquarters. “I type 60 words a minute. I’m not meant to be here,” he pleads with the tank and its crew. Norman is given a position at the front of the tank, where he operates a machine gun turret next to the driver. When it’s safe to do so he pops his head out of a hatch and gets a nice view as the tank bops down the German countryside. During a firefight, he drops down under the hatch and uses a nifty periscope to (barely) see what, or who, he’s shooting at.

Ayer’s film, which he also wrote, establishes one principle very early on: the tanks, even with their armor plating, are fragile monsters. One wayward bullet and gas ignites, shells explode and the tank turns into a convection oven. Then, of course, there are German bazooka teams, landmines and the nearly impenetrable tiger tank, a feared enemy by any Allied soldier. It’s amazing any of these brave tank crews survived the war. Making things more hazardous is the way the tanks fight in Fury’s battles: when meeting the enemy, tanks turn and grumble into the action in a straight line. While dog-faced infantrymen use cover, weave through the trees and generally try to use a tactical approach, the tanks just drove in, which makes for anti-climactic action sequences. Maybe this is the way the real tank battles were fought, in which case the film nailed it, but I couldn’t help but think of Civil War movies and the frustrating tactics that those soldiers used. Marching into bullets in spiffy rows of targets likely got a lot of men killed.

This tactical curiosity is clearly seen in one sequence where a column of tanks face off against a single tiger tank. The American tanks turn to engage and then chug forward as the German foe obliterates one tank after another. Was there not another way to fight this battle? I will say this, though, the tanks looks amazing. A lot of work went into their creation, and they are convincing creatures unto themselves. Especially noteworthy are the shell effects, with high-velocity tank shells ricocheting off hulls, bouncing off soggy soil and piercing armor in perfectly round holes. The threat of a tank barrel pointed at the screen felt real, with terrifying consequences. The same can’t be said about the regular bullets, which only found American flesh when the plot demanded it. Germans were apparently awful shots or crack shots, but never a mixture of both. The movie doesn't treat all hand grenades equal either: American hand grenades had quick fuses that exploded on contact, yet German grenades were so slow to blow up that Americans could snatch them up and heave them back. Was this a real difference between the two armies, or was Ayer’s script skewed for its heroes?

Forgiving the munitions, Fury is mostly about the main tank and its ultimate destiny at a German crossroads, but the film isn’t shy about turning its attention on the tank’s human controllers, be it Gordo and his Mexican heritage or Grady and his backwoods mumble. One noteworthy performance is by LaBeouf, fresh off his crazy tour, as a Bible-thumping creepo. He initiates one of the more interesting conversations in the movie: if anyone can be “saved” by Jesus’ grace then couldn’t Hitler be saved? He’s truly stumped.

The central characters are Wardaddy and Norman, playing master and apprentice. Pitt’s Southern snarl is lewd and nasty, but he imbues the character with a gritty affection. “Wait til you see it … what a man can do to another man,” Wardaddy, the Davey Crockett to the tank’s rolling Alamo, says to Norman. “Ideals are peaceful. History is violent,” he adds later. These two characters take Fury on a hard left turn as they wander through an apartment complex and meet two German women. Tension fills the room as Wardaddy removes his clothes and makes glances toward a bedroom. But the scene didn’t go where I thought it would, and it instead revealed a great deal about Fury’s heroes. Although the scene is a dramatic detour, one I greatly enjoyed, it does not knock the tracks off the movie’s momentum.

The photography is, at times, exceptional, including several scenes that are worthy of commendation: a formation of bombers weaving a metal carpet in the sky, shots of Americans playing baseball with stack of worthless German money, and a stunning opening shot of a German on horseback riding through the mists of war, the battle-churned mud, and the pierced and smoldering carcasses of beetles with names like Panzer, Tiger, and Sherman. This can be a gorgeously ugly movie.

Fury isn’t the greatest World War II movie, but it is a noteworthy one, despite its sluggish depiction of tank warfare. It proves that there are still many stories worth telling from a 70-year-old war.

Fury - Movie Review by Monte Yazzie

Fury  

Director: David Ayer

Starring: Brad Pitt, Shia LaBeouf, Logan Lerman, Michael Peña, and Jon Bernthal

By Monte Yazzie of The Coda Films

David Ayer understands how to make procedural films, look no further than the “day-in-the-life” cop drama “End of Watch” for evidence. “Fury” examines a worn-out and broken group of soldiers, following them at the end of one battle right into another mission, just another day of work for these men. Ayer incorporates affecting character drama and creeping tension from the unknown and unexpected aspects of danger lurking seemingly everywhere. “War never ends quietly” is the tagline and Ayers understands this, incorporating panicked scenes of battle accompanied by the blast of a tank canon. “Fury” is seldom showy, aside from extravagant violence; it displays a traditional war film atmosphere and a successfully simplistic structure.

A group of soldiers in a Sherman tank are sent on a mission behind Nazi occupied enemy lines. Lead by a hardened sergeant who goes by the nickname “Wardaddy” (Brad Pitt), the group of men has bonded on the battlefield. Accompanied by a fresh recruit (Logan Lerman) the group is utterly out-numbered and faced with danger around every turn.

“Best job I’ve ever had”. This solemn line of dialog holds both sincere truth and deceptive motivation. These men purpose their fighting in relationship to a job, reaffirming after numerous life or death battles the comment stated as a means of motivation to continue forward. There are no breaks in war, a statement portrayed all the more harrowing when the soldiers have downtime and their mood shifts in every direction. In one difficult scene, the mere utterance of one word brings the whole squad to an emotional halt, each of them having a different reaction. These men have experienced enough tragedy and atrocity that war has conditioned them into a state of constant survival, kill or be killed. They are detached, a feeling made aware when the younger new recruit is added to the time weary crew of the rolling Fury and forced to realize aggressively the bitter truths of war. In a nice touch Ayer never gives the viewer the entire story of the soldiers; instead we are offered pictures, subtle gestures, and hinted dialog to extrapolate who these men are away from their service identity. Unfortunately the film does become susceptible to the design it implements, while the procedural prospective displays the rugged and continuous routine these soldiers carry on a daily basis, it also becomes predictable and slights the characters from more meaningful developments.

Brad Pitt is convincing as the uncompromising leader who levies a fair amount of tough love to his bonded group. His performance isn’t too far off from his prior role as Lt. Aldo Raine in “Inglorious Basterds”, here Pitt is less boisterous and more haunted, spurned by the call of duty but afflicted with the long road paved by violence. In a supporting role Shia LaBeouf is great, his character red-eyed and on the verge of tears quotes and reads scripture dubbing him a moniker of “Bible” by his band of brothers. LaBeouf displays the talent that has been shadowed by some his past film selections.

The violence is quickly paced, startling, and gruesome. Ayer is purposeful and gratuitous with the use, which sometimes works, and other times feels blatantly unnecessary, gore for the sake of gore. There is no denying that overall however the violence, regardless of the how it is utilized, displays the sudden and terrifying atmosphere of the battlefield.

It would seem difficult to make a film about soldiers when they are driving something as visually consuming as a war tank, however director David Ayer succeeds in many instances here. “Fury” assertively displays the violence and chaos of war but also offers insight and unflinching perspective into the routine of warfare.

Monte’s Rating

3.50 out of 5.00

Men, Women and Children - Movie Review by Eric Forthun

Men, Women & Children  

Starring Adam Sandler, Jennifer Garner, Rosemarie DeWitt, Judy Greer, Dean Norris, Kaitlyn Dever, and Ansel Elgort

Directed by Jason Reitman

Rated R

Run Time: 119 minutes

Genre: Comedy/Drama

Opens October 17th

By Eric Forthun of Cinematic Shadows

Men, Women & Children takes a muddled, woefully confused look at the digital age and its effect on society. The film comes from acclaimed director Jason Reitman, who has directed two of the best films in the past decade: Up in the Air and Juno, two brilliant, towering features that define our generation in varying and equally affecting degrees. I'm also a fan of Young Adult, so Reitman has previously established himself as one of the strongest directorial voices in the business today. His latest effort attempts to examine social norms and the disconnect we feel from one another in a technologically attached world: we always look at our phones, spend time playing video games online, and avoid friendship and commitment when we can easily turn to technology as a means of feeling important. There's something integral about examining such a focal point of our society, so it's a shame that the story feels off by a few years and so out-of-touch with how society functions. Exaggerated characters and absurd actions bog down the story and make the film feel like a painful complaint about society rather than an astute observation, a startling departure for Reitman.

The film features vignettes of stories, jumping sporadically between younger and older generations. Don (Adam Sandler) and Helen Truby (Rosemarie DeWitt) are in a sexless marriage that hasn't felt romantic in the longest time. Don opts for online porn rather than being romantically involved with his wife, while both of them spend their nights laying next to each other in bed playing on their iPads. They don't connect in the way they used to. Their son, Chris (Travis Tope), uses the computer his dad bought him for homework to watch porn instead. Notice a trend? He consumes a lot of it which messes with his perception of women; for instance, popular cheerleader Hannah Clint (Olivia Crocicchia) likes him but they struggle to be intimate. Hannah's mother, Donna (Judy Greer), runs a website with her daughter that acts as a semi-modeling photo shoot that gets a bit risqué. They only make it vulgar if subscribers ask for a private shoot and, well, that's a little off-putting considering Hannah is underage. Other stories involve Patricia Beltmeyer (Jennifer Garner) and her controlling, police state-like parenting with daughter Brandy (Kaitlyn Dever), along with recently divorced Kent Mooney (Dean Norris) trying to find love while his introverted son Tim (Ansel Elgort) elects for video games over interactions.

All of these stories intersect in some fashion, either by theme or character crossings. Every story aims to look at how technology changes our perception of reality, each to drastically different effects. Reitman attempts to adapt Chad Kultgen's acclaimed novel but keeps many of the same elements that primarily work in literature, including an omniscient narrator (with the lovely voice of Emma Thompson) and self-revelatory moments where characters speak their own emotional arcs. These moments can be riveting in writing but feel derivative in this film's landscape. Thompson's narration expresses every emotion and motivation for each character without letting their actions speak for them, using the first half hour as a means of explaining what the characters need to change rather than letting it speak for itself. Show, don't tell. That's one of the oldest rules in the film book, and Reitman doesn't let it happen. The film's tone, however, becomes the most grating and repugnantly motivated factor of the bunch. Reitman overbears the audience with complaints in the film's main text, crafting annoying, inane characters for the young generation and making other adults complain about one another and their children's own social anxieties. Rather than making the characters feel like they change their minds and soften up by the conclusion, it makes the story feel like an old man is complaining about the youngin's and their technology.

The performances are committed and subtle, particularly from Sandler and Garner. It's always refreshing to see Sandler in these toned-down roles, so it's even more exciting to see him avoid any type of outburst that makes his comedy iconic. He's quiet, introverted, and emotionally torn. So why then, does his character become weak and ambivalent near the film's end? And more specifically, why must there be a plot point about him and his wife remembering how intimate they were on the morning of 9/11? It's inappropriate and off-putting, failing to provide timely context but instead making a tragedy a backdrop for their marriage's failure. DeWitt is equally good as his wife, but she's always been a terrific actress. Garner makes a borderline sociopathic, over-bearing mother compelling, even if Dever never compels as her onscreen daughter. Elgort in particular, a talented young actor, is pouty and one-note. The supporting cast isn't given much to do besides mope and wish that technology didn't impact their lives so drastically. Better films like Trust and Disconnect have tackled technology and its impact on the familial structure and society as a whole, respectively. Men, Women & Children falls remarkably short of commenting anything new on the subject, instead feeling like Reitman's most out-of-touch, careless effort to date.

Men, Women and Children - Movie Review by Monte Yazzie

Men, Women, Children  

Director: Jason Reitman

Starring: Adam Sandler, Jennifer Garner, Rosemarie DeWitt, Judy Greer, Dean Norris, Kaitlyn Dever, Ansel Elgort, Olivia Crocicchia, and Emma Thompson

119 Minutes

By Monte Yazzie of The Coda Films

The typical morning term of endearment from my wife has a different affect on me when I hear her say it than when I read it in a text. Technology has changed the way that we communicate, it has changed the way we express emotions, and it is changing the way reality is perceived. There is a world of people who have a better understanding of themselves through the technology that enables their personality than they do in their daily lives. Director Jason Reitman approaches this technological dilemma with a heavy-handed deliberateness in the film “Men, Women, Children”.

The film focuses on a group of different people. A husband (Adam Sandler) and wife (Rosemarie DeWitt) who have grown apart, both self-satisfying their wants for something different with different people within the risqué websites of the Internet. An overly protective mother (Jennifer Garner) controls every digital fingerprint her teenage daughter (Kaitlyn Dever) makes, moving the teenager to sneak around to be with her boyfriend (Ansel Elgort). The popular girl (Olivia Crocicchia) in high school is looking for instant fame; with the help of her desperate mother (Judy Greer) she poses for “modeling” pictures for a website. These stories intertwine with one another; displaying the negative effects technology has on their lives.

The themes in “Men, Women, and Children” are all too familiar, some matters of debate on the nightly news and others so readily accustomed that we overlook them on a daily basis. Reitman tends to utilize the extremes of these matters for the bulk of the multiple plots developing in the story here. Unfortunately, the many different stories aren’t all similarly interesting, in fact a few are often forgotten about. The film functions on the surface as a cautionary tale but Reitman’s skill for keen character insights creates some discerning musings into the relationships formulated through technology but also the breakdown of relationships perpetrated by simple human nature. Reitman, who typically has a knack for the kind of subtlety that would transcend these underlying topics, paints the themes on a large display with flashing lights to direct the viewer where to look and, in some scenes, exactly how to feel. The underlying implications become forcefully one-dimensional; if it weren’t for the capabilities of the actors these flaws would be more obvious.

Reitman brings something worthwhile out of all the characters, especially good are Rosemarie DeWitt as the bored housewife who seeks the company of another man through a catered website. Her change from shy to aggressive calls into question which is genuine. Judy Greer is another standout as the blindly ambitious mother who sets up a website filled with inappropriate pictures of her daughter. There is a desperation that is present; a woman who missed her chance is living through her daughter. Adam Sandler has shown his ability, with films like “Punch Drunk Love” and “Reign Over Me”, at being more than just comedic, here he gives a performance that ranges from timid to comfortably numb.

“Men, Women, and Children” is trying to be profound while imposing a barrage of aggressive themes. This resonates in small amounts when the right characters and story arcs are on display. Unfortunately too many wheels begin to spin and confusion and repetition take over, making the multifaceted commentary lose track of the poignant ideas it attempts to suggest.

Monte’s Rating

3.00 out of 5.00

Art and Craft - Movie Review by Eric Forthun

Art and Craft  

Starring Mark Landis, Matthew Leininger, and Aaron Cowan

Directed by Sam Cullman, Jennifer Grausman, and Mark Becker

Rated NR

Run Time: 89 minutes

Genre: Documentary

Opens October 17th

By Eric Forthun of Cinematic Shadows

Art forgery is fascinating and, regardless of ethical dilemmas, requires a tremendous amount of talent by the artist (or con artist, depending on how it is viewed). Directors Sam Cullman, Jennifer Grausman, and Mark Becker have used this fascinating topic to an off-putting and engaging effect in their new documentary Art and Craft, considering their subject is not nearly as interesting as his work. Mark Landis is one of the most notorious art forgers of the past thirty years, having made thousands of fake paintings from famous artists and donated them to art galleries all around the country. He meticulously works on all of the quirks in certain artists' work, even using home-made techniques like staining the back of a canvas with coffee to make it look older. Some of these elements do not feel very believable in terms of how inept art gallery directors must be (can you not search other galleries to see if that painting exists elsewhere? Could you not smell the coffee on the back of the canvas?), but it proves that Landis does something unique. That's especially true when it's revealed that he donates every piece of work.

Landis hasn't been convicted of any crimes. It's a genuinely shocking component of his career considering how many people despise him and reprimand him for his deplorable actions. But he's a tremendously talented painter that just so happens to use his talents to copy others. Landis' work makes for a compelling film, and the examination of others surrounding him and looking at his work from the outside makes for a stronger analysis of the integrity of the craft. The incorporation of registrar Matthew Leininger, who discovered the forgeries in more than 60 galleries in over 20 states, makes the story feel like a thriller wrapped inside of an ethical drama. There's something riveting about how a documentary can utilize genre storytelling techniques from narrative fiction to create its own beast. Leininger discovered the aliases that Landis used, including one of a Jesuit priest. Everything about Landis' career is built on deceit, but he has technically never done anything wrong under the tenants of legality. His forgeries, by being donated to galleries while not explicitly gaining anything from providing free services to them, work masterfully under the coattail of the law. It's sick but wildly ingenious.

Landis himself is the center of the documentary, though, and that's where the narrative's impact begins to diminish. Landis' backstory is vividly depressing, with him having a stint in a mental institution in his teenage years due to diagnosed schizophrenia. He lives by himself, buys limited groceries, watches a lot of old television programs, and lives the life of a sad introvert. Landis is interesting as an individual from an outsider's perspective, but looking at him through his words and mannerisms makes for a rather boring, repetitive film. He has a dry whisper for a speaking voice and sounds rather slow in his thoughts, which makes for drawn out scenes where Landis doesn't say much. He's socially awkward and doesn't handle criticism all that well, and he seems to revel in the fact that he is taking credit for something another person did before him. Not very likable and not very engaging don't make for a good protagonist in a documentary. Art and Craft does take a quick look at the other elements in play, like Leininger and other art gallery directors that have a clear problem with what he does, but Landis is too often the focus. The film's 89-minute character study of Landis doesn't always work, but it's a compelling story told through the eyes of a far less interesting, simple viewpoint.

Rudderless - Move Review by Michael Clawson

Rudderless  

Starring Billy Crudup, Anton Yelchin, Felicity Huffman, Laurence Fishburne and William H. Macy

Directed by William H. Macy

From Samuel Goldwyn Films

Rated R

105 minutes

by Michael Clawson of Terminal Volume

What is the weight of a song? Where does its spirit reside? And how does it ensnare us in its rapturous grasp?

I first saw Almost Famous at an impressionable age, when movies didn’t just thud at your feet, but cratered into your soul. The Cameron Crowe film reaffirmed something I already knew, but in a beautiful way: there are songs (and albums and bands) in this world that change the fabric of your being. That was a lesson that the charismatic guitarist Russell Hammond helped teach in Stillwater, Almost Famous’ fictitious rock group.

So it pleased me to no end to see Russell Hammond, more precisely Billy Crudup, once again on a stage teaching us about the cosmic-spiritual connection that music initiates within us.

Crudup stars in Rudderless, a delicate, though overreaching, drama about a father carrying on the troubled music of his dead son. The film opens on the son, who we only really see once until a fateful news story about a school shooting. His father, ad executive Sam (Crudup), takes it hard and falls into alcohol, depression and then poverty. We pick up with him two years later, when a wayward box of his son’s mementos turns up at his doorstep. Inside are old notes, demos and lyric sheets — a time capsule of unlived musical dreams.

As a way to reacquaint himself with his son, and to get out of the ratty sailboat where he’s living, Sam learns the music and takes it to an open-mic night, where the music is a hit. He attracts the attention of Quentin (Anton Yelchin), a younger musician who won’t let Sam rest until they start performing together. They form a band, their shows get bigger, they develop a following, and the whole time Sam is concealing a dark secret — his dead son is the writer of all his music.

Rudderless is directed and co-written by William H. Macy, whose filmmaking lacks the depth and nuance of the captains who have directed him — the Coen Brothers, Paul Thomas Anderson, Rob Reiner, to name a few — although he clearly learned, if only through osmosis, what a great story looks and feels like. Some of the sequences are thrown together and chaotic, including a sabotaged boat regatta, and other scenes could be written with more depth and understanding of the central characters. But, as they say, Rudderless has good bones. It has a story to tell, and it’s a whopper.

Central to the plot is a twist so monumental, so audacious, so utterly believable that I’m damned near ready to spoil it just because. I won’t, but the urge is there. The twist comes with a single image, and it’s devastating on a nuclear scale. It alters the very atoms of the movie, a top-to-bottom overhaul. (Recall Spike Lee’s Red Hook Summer. That kind of twist. An epic horizon-flipping twist.)

Crudup plays the heartbroken father with a degree of calmness and ease. He underplays Sam, and it’s a terrific strength. Yelchin, the fiery little dweeb, is fine, too, although his hair is coiffed into a nest of punk tangles, odd for a kid who wants to play folky emo tunes with a 50-something. Laurence Fishburne plays a music store owner who dispenses lots of sage advice, to the youngsters and the adults. Selena Gomez also turns up, as does songwriter Ben Kweller, who plays one of the bandmembers. The music is exceptional, and just perfect for the story Macy is telling.

So what is the existential spiritual role of music in our lives? Rudderless — using warm performances and a story that is worth its weight in gold records — tries, and often succeeds, in getting to the bottom of that question.

Pride - Movie Review by Eric Forthun

Pride  

Starring George MacKay, Ben Schnetzer, Faye Marsay, Imelda Staunton, and Bill Nighy

Directed by Matthew Warchus

Rated R

Run Time: 120 minutes

Genre: Comedy/Drama

Opens October 10th

By Eric Forthun of Cinematic Shadows

Pride is one of the grandest celebrations of life and love I've seen on the big screen, a fiercely bold, brilliant effort that shines a light on UK gay activists in the 1980s. It's rare to see a film preach such valiant ideas and it always feels relevant, particularly in an age when homophobia continues to affect family life while making others sick at the thought of human beings treating each other so senselessly and hatefully. Leave it, then, to a British film set thirty years in the past to feel more culturally and politically relevant than almost every recent American effort. Here, we are provided with characters that are so joyously living life and attempting to communicate that gay and lesbian rights should not be something that causes this much uproar. Human beings loving one another is not unnatural; hating them is. That's at the forefront of closeted 20-year old Joe's (George MacKay) mind, a young man who walks onto a gay pride parade in hopes of being able to identify with others like him. Outsiders spew hate speech while an old lady holds up a sign saying he'll burn in hell. Homophobia is a universal issue.

The film takes place on the backdrop of the 1984-85 coal miners' strike in the UK, using Joe and his recently encountered gay friends as participants in pushing forth the movement. Joe meets a local gay rights' leader named Mark (Ben Schnetzer), alongside other members like Steph (Faye Marsay) and Mike (Joseph Gilgun). They form a group that will gain them attention and hopefully other supporters in LGSM, standing for Lesbians and Gays Support the Miners. It doesn't have a perfect ring to it, as some point out, but it gets the message across. Nonetheless, they head to Wales in search of miner supporters, cutting past the unions and heading right to the source. In this mining town, they find Hefina (Imelda Staunton) and Cliff (Bill Nighy), two people that endorse the movement and hope that the presence of gays might influence the miners to encourage raising money for support. There's plenty of backlash in the town, particularly amongst those that don't see how support for gay rights can align with the plight of the unionized miners. But support begins to build up as money is raised, and the two join forces in hopes that they can create a lasting connection to celebrate their lives. The content allows the performances to shine through, and all of the young actors are superb, particularly McKay. The adults provide subtlety in their actions and how bravely they embrace people that most of society scorns. Nighy is outstanding, as always.

The film feels so unique yet identifiable in its deft mixture of storytelling and emotion, slyly mixing in character development alongside its real-life story and consistent bouts of humor. It's a hilarious film, something that might not be seen in a premise as serious as this. Perhaps most importantly, though, the humor comes from the characters entering situations that ring true to their types, never forcing jokes and making them stem from their own unique minds. There's a particularly playful scene where Steph keeps asking to be affectionately called dyke since the men are only talking about themselves in offensive terms. She feels left out, but also embraces the term and uses it for strength. Beauty emerges from these characters and their search for happiness in a world that denies them that because it doesn't seem natural. It's a traditional plight for gay characters in film, but it still remains wholly resonant, especially when closeted characters receive encouragement to embrace their individuality. I thought, as the film reached its powerful, emotionally resonant conclusion, how audiences will view Pride in thirty years. Will we still have the same issues with gay rights in our society today, or will we be more embracing of sexuality and identity? All I know is that the film received the most applause of any film I have seen all year, and rightfully so. It's a remarkable achievement in humanist filmmaking.

The Judge - Movie Review by Michael Clawson

The Judge  

Starring Robert Downey Jr., Robert Duvall, Vera Farmiga, Billy Bob Thornton, Vincent D’Onofrio, Dax Shepard and Jeremy Strong

Directed by David Dobkin

From Warner Bros. Pictures

Rated R

141 minutes

by Michael Clawson of Terminal Volume

A group of brothers, some of whom have deep-seated emotional turmoil and father issues, have to team up and work together to save their fearless leader, a hard-headed warrior for justice who finds himself on the wrong end of the law in a swirling storm of adversity.

That description could easily be for the next Avengers movie — and look, there’s Tony Stark! — but I’m happy to report there’s not a Marvel hero in sight in David Dobkin’s grounded courtroom drama The Judge, about a cynical defense attorney who returns to his small-town roots to defend his father, the tough-but-fair judge of the small hamlet.

The defense attorney is Hank Palmer and he’s full of dry wit, motor-mouthed comebacks and snarky tirades. In the opening scene he pees on a pesky prosecutor who likes to chat at urinals. Are we shocked he’s played by Robert Downey Jr.? Nope. Hank is summoned home when his father, the Judge (Robert Duvall), is arrested for a hit-and-run death. The evidence does not look good: blood and flesh are in his Buick’s fender, convenience store security footage paints deadly intent, and the Judge can’t account for 10 missing minutes in his fractured timeline.

Hank’s legal skills are so slick — someone calls him Dershowitz as a joke — that he runs circles around the local prosecutor, a stony mountain of blandness played by Billy Bob Thornton, yet his worst enemy is the defendant, his stubborn father who refuses to listen to wise counsel if only because it comes from Hank, the family’s reluctant Prodigal Son. The Judge just doesn’t approve of many of his son’s law-bending antics — “Everyone wants Atticus Finch until there’s a dead hooker in the hot tub,” Hank tells his father.

The Judge could have easily been a staid courtroom drama, a John Grisham B-side, a flabby family squabble. But it takes its central struggle — father versus son, son versus father — quite seriously, enough so that you start believing Downey and Duvall’s epic performances. Some of it is funny and insightful (“I wish I liked you more,” the Judge tells Hank in front of his brothers) and then there’s a brutal honesty to other parts.

One sequence in particular, forever known as the Poop Scene, cuts to the depth of fathers and sons: yes, they often hate each other, but deep down they care more than either can adequately verbalize. The scene is shocking in its graphic depiction of age and sickness, and yet the crude depiction cuts through the barriers that separate bickering families. If The Judge were simply a courtroom thriller, it would be perfectly mediocre. But the layers of guilt, doubt and hostility of its central characters elevate the film into something more, something true and pure.

The movie is not perfect, though. It’s a little too wordy, and there are many passages of mindless exposition that serve as a lush bed of evidence for litigation later in the movie. I will say this, though: the film uses everything. Snippets of old 8mm footage, throw-away lines of dialogue, minor characters … The Judge doesn’t let anything die on the vine. I also really appreciated some of the inventive courtroom stunts, including one where Hank weeds out prospective jurors by asking what the bumper stickers on their cars say. Ingenious!

Although much of the script is weighted toward Hank and his father, heartfelt attention is paid to Hank’s brothers and several other key members of the small town. Vincent D’Onofrio plays his older brother, a former baseball phenom sidelined by Hank’s carelessness. Jeremy Strong plays his younger brother, an autistic man with a gentle soul and a vintage camera forever in his hand. Dax Shepard is a rookie attorney who can’t enter the courthouse (“the last great cathedral”) without vomiting near the court steps. Vera Farmiga is an ex-girlfriend who won’t let Hank ditch out on her again. Now, I mentioned The Avengers earlier, and I did that because The Judge has this moment where everyone assembles together Marvel-like to fight on the Judge’s behalf. It’s an invigorating feeling to see everyone rally around this polarizing character with so much compassion and blind faith.

The Judge is just funny enough, just serious enough, and just poetic enough to be the sleeper hit of the fall. And I hope it is.

The Judge - Movie Review by Eric Forthun

The Judge  

Starring Robert Downey Jr., Robert Duvall, Vera Farmiga, Billy Bob Thornton, and Vincent D'Onofrio

Directed by David Dobkin

Rated R

Run Time: 141 minutes

Genre: Drama

Opens October 10th

By Eric Forthun of Cinematic Shadows

The Judge uses the star power of Robert Downey Jr. and Robert Duvall to tell the character-driven story of a father-son duo reunited to save the future of their relationship. Coming at 141 minutes, the film becomes an overlong, repetitive journey into the heart of a man that was ravaged by a busy, overbearing father in his past and must accept that he is his father's only hope at having another chance at life. Courtroom dramas often rely heavily on the unique nature of their cases and the twists that arise from the developments and reveals on the stand, but The Judge pushes those proceedings aside and emphasizes the family drama at the heart of the film to occasionally effective results. There's a subtlety to the two lead performances and a handful of supporting gems that elevate the cliché-driven narrative, yet the film never builds up momentum and fills in the empty voids of storytelling with other trite plot points that feel all too familiar in an already worn out sub-genre.

Hank Palmer (Robert Downey Jr.) is a big-time lawyer living away from his small-town home. He mostly defends people known for being guilty of their crimes and feels confident in his work, despite struggles both at and away from home. Him and his wife are estranged after she cheated on him and their daughter, Lauren (Emma Tremblay), will soon be caught in the mix. For the time being, though, Hank must attend to his mother's death in a return to middle America and a small town that he wanted to keep in his past. He runs into his old fling, Samantha (Vera Farmiga), who runs a diner and seems to be living well while he avoids his renowned judge of a father, Joseph (Robert Duvall), like the plague. They don't get along since they disagreed on many things while they were younger, namely how to respect one another and deal with the others' foolish actions. One of those involves Hank and his brother, Glen (Vincent D'Onofrio), who used to play great baseball but injured his arm in a car accident while Hank was driving.

The incident that keeps Hank in town, though, is the arrest of Joseph on the count of murder. This reverses the playing field for a man that has judged others for crimes for the past forty years and must reconcile with the fact that he possibly killed a man he previously convicted. Joseph cannot stand the thought of Hank representing him and this creates a further divide, particularly as new details emerge about Joseph in his fragile state. The family drama that forms the heart of the film is undoubtedly inspiring and driven by emotional truths. There's something to be said about a mainstream, major studio-backed drama that recalls old Hollywood techniques and employs such visual reminiscences of classic studio films and does it with a serio-comedy feel. Inherently, though, what derives from such dependence on old material is predictability, since the narrative offers no true surprises and instead relies on big, dramatic moments to tell the audience when to feel something. A few intimate scenes arise, particularly between Downey Jr.'s Hank and Jeremy Strong's Dale, as their brotherly relationship prospers with Strong's affecting performance.

Robert Downey Jr. is magnetic on screen and stands as one of the only stars in the business today, and countering him with a legend like Robert Duvall brings out two powerful performances at the heart of the film. Yet like most Hollywood dramas, a big dramatic development happens halfway through the film and undermines the severity of the dilemma being addressed. I won't mention it for fear of spoiling, but it simplifies a complex issue that affects many people. Too many subplots pop up and fail to close out during the film, most involving Carla (Leighton Meester) and Farmiga's Samantha as love interests that drastically impact Hank's life. And lest I forget that the always appealing Billy Bob Thornton is used as a bland, intelligent prosecutor that has one quirk to define him as a person but mostly stands as an enigma to threaten Hank and his family. For every strong actor and character that attempts to emerge in The Judge, the story bogs itself down in exaggerated melodrama and lessens its impact. What could be a promising, intuitive drama about family life instead becomes overdone and unfulfilling.

Kill the Messenger - Movie Review by Michael Clawson

Kill the Messenger  

Starring Jeremy Renner, Mary Elizabeth Winstead, Rosemarie DeWitt, Tim Blake Nelson, Andy Garcia, Ray Liotta, Oliver Platt and Michael K. Williams

Directed by Michael Cuesta

From Focus Features

Rated R

112 minutes

by Michael Clawson of Terminal Volume

Late in Kill the Messenger, a journalist is awakened in the middle of the night by a chatty CIA operative who has come to set the record straight. “First, you’re attracted to the power. Then you’re addicted to the power. Then devoured by the power,” the agent says in the shadows. The journalist asks, why are you telling me this? “It’s my confession.”

It’s a pivotal moment in Michael Cuesta’s fantastic new film because it reveals how bad things have become for the reporter, and how much worse they’re still going to get.

The reporter is Gary Webb (Jeremy Renner) and he works for the San Jose Mercury News covering property seizures in Los Angeles drug cases. After a tip, he’s alerted to a courtroom where he witnesses a rather strange thing: a major drug case is dropped simply because Webb is in the courtroom. Federal prosecutors don’t want reporters poking around their key witness, a man named Danilo Blandon, so they drop all charges against a known drug kingpin. This only arouses the curiosity of Webb, who plunges headfirst into the crack epidemic of Los Angeles of the early 1990s.

Renner, channeling his inner Sean Penn, punches his way through this true story with ease, like he was destined to play Webb. But that could be said about many of Renner’s roles — he’s just phenomenal every time. Renner plays Webb like a crusty proto-punk clad in frayed canvas, Metallica and Rancid posters on the garage wall, shaggy hair billowing from his head and chin. When his son asks for advice, it’s a priceless nugget: “Don’t let the assholes win.” Webb is relentless, a characteristic that will bring about his rise and eventual fall.

While researching the elusive Danilo Blandon, Webb ends up at a criminal trial for a mid-level drug dealer who has a great line about his boss — “I was an elf. He was Santa Claus.” Because he can’t get to Blandon directly, Webb waits for him to take the witness stand and then feeds questions to an attorney from the front row of the courtroom. Under oath, Blandon drops a bomb: his boss was not another drug kingpin but a CIA operative. This game-changing fact sends Webb deep down the rabbit hole of government secrets. After trips to South America, countless interviews, prison visitations and a dangerous tour of an airport for drug planes, Webb connects the dots: the CIA was using drugs to fund contras in a secret war in Nicaragua, a war that congress refused to fund.

Webb’s story, with the headline “Dark Alliance,” shook American politics like an earthquake. And for awhile he was a media celebrity who received appearance requests from Montel, Jerry Springer, and 20/20 or 60 Minutes, as long as he would appear on one but not the other. A White House official, sympathetic to moths and flames, tells him, “My friend, some stories are just too true to tell.” But Webb told it. And then it all collapsed.

The downfall started mostly out of professional jealousy. The big papers were sore that the itty bitty San Jose Mercury News and it’s plucky no-name reporter scooped them. The CIA funded the drug epidemic, but the media was more interested in Webb’s reporting style. They were piranha until nothing was left of Webb. It was not a proud moment for journalism.

Kill the Messenger is a sensational journey through Webb’s story. I couldn’t take my eyes off it. Cuesta gives the story an immediacy and documentary-like feel with handheld cameras, inserts of drug busts and money-filled apartments, and he lovingly frames Renner as an old-school shoe-leather journalist, a martyr for the truth, a reporter who cut his own path through a story.

The film has an incredible cast, including Tim Blake Nelson as a defense attorney, Rosemarie DeWitt as Webb’s wife, Oliver Platt and Mary Elizabeth Winstead as overwhelmed editors, and Barry Pepper as a slimy federal prosecutor. A number of great actors have only single scenes, including Andy Garcia, Robert Patrick and Michael K. Williams. Ray Liotta, in a perfectly simple one-off scene, plays the trespassing CIA agent with the existential crisis.

The film does not leave the impact of Webb’s work up in the air. It states clearly that the CIA colluded with drug dealers to sell crack cocaine in the United States and to use the money they made to fund a war in South America. You might disagree with that prognosis, but Kill the Messenger has solid reporting speaking on its behalf. The film ends with political heavyweights confirming much of the CIA plot.

Gary Webb was right all along.

Kill the Messenger - Movie Review by Eric Forthun

Kill the Messenger  

Starring Jeremy Renner, Barry Pepper, Mary Elizabeth Winstead, Rosemarie DeWitt, Ray Liotta, and Andy Garcia

Directed by Michael Cuesta

Rated R

Run Time: 112 minutes

Genre: Biography/Drama

Opens October 10th

By Eric Forthun of Cinematic Shadows

Kill the Messenger aims to take a look at investigative journalism and how government corruption and seedy underpinnings can dismantle a man's professional and personal life. But despite an admittedly committed performance from Jeremy Renner in a relatively thankless role, the film never develops a sense of urgency around its "based on a true story" narrative. Focusing on real-life whistleblower Gary Webb (Jeremy Renner), a journalist for the San Jose Mercury News, the story explores the exposure of CIA involvement in the Nicaraguan civil war, particularly as United States-backed weapons were supplied to the Contras through money raised by drug sales. It's a dark, horrifying underbelly of our nation's government that the film badly wants to expose in a new light, and it uses intermittently effective scenes in the opening moments to elaborate on the tension between professional journalism and cooperative ignorance. But the hackneyed, painfully melodramatic family subplot that becomes the film's focal point in the second half undermines the brisk, rapid-fire, politically charged film that could have been.

Gary Webb is a journalist that has dealt with some past struggles in his work. An affair has caused a tumultuous relationship with his wife Sue (Rosemarie DeWitt), along with his recently turned 16-year old son Ian (Lucas Hedges). Their family life is far from perfect, creating an even harsher dichotomy once Gary receives information from Coral (Paz Vega), a femme fatale type that involved herself with drugs and realized that there was more to her husband's arrest than simple dealing. He was involved in a drug trade that included the government. The introduction of her character essentially allows the film to funnel exposition through her red lipstick-stained lips, with Coral exuding sexuality and basically acting as a noir-type before the film switches genres when necessary. The story then moves to political thriller as Russell Dodson (Barry Pepper) enters the picture, attempting to steer Gary away from the difficult scenario that awaits him. Gary travels around the country and even heads to Nicaragua to track down the exact origin of his claims and get the support he needs to publish his story.

In that moment, Gary becomes the biggest journalist in the country after exposing the government and all of its flawed actions. He broke the year's biggest story, or at least it seems that way. His story begins to fall apart once sources rescind their statements and the government wipes clean everything that points to the truth. There's a certain harshness to the central narrative driving the film, so it would be fitting for the characters to have urgency and immediacy in their actions and statements. So it's peculiar then, that outside of one scene involving Gary's editor, Anna (Mary Elizabeth Winstead), struggling to decide on how to post a particular article, the film doesn't move at a break-neck speed. The pacing forces the film to dismantle itself at the seams and focus on the family drama that undermines the central story: Webb's discovery and its aftermath. By making his character such a bland, mostly emotionless enigma with his family and an impassioned, vocal journalist, it creates an off-putting, mixed signal about his personality. Renner's performance is subtle only in sparse scenes and mostly asks him for large outbursts when the role requires more nuance than that.

The cast is superb and should stand as one of the most well-rounded ensembles of the year: Ray Liotta, Michael Sheen, Andy Garcia, Michael Kenneth Williams, Oliver Platt, Tim Blake Nelson, and more join the others listed above in a star-driven, women-less ensemble. The three females in the film are weak, submissive, and pushed aside by a narrative that doesn't care about their individualism but rather their importance to Webb's presence: Winstead's character only counters Webb to prove that he is right, DeWitt's character declares her hopeless love for him when he's clearly a reprehensible man, and Vega acts as a sex object that's given exposition because the narrative can't find another way to deliver subtle storytelling. I attended the film with a friend who said that the film is "5% really good, 5% mind-numbingly terrible, and 90% milquetoast." That's an apt description for Kill the Messenger, a film with a solid journalistic conscience that wastes its premise on derivative characterizations and simplified, monotonous developments.