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dir. Sam Raimi
writ. Ivan Raimi and Sam Raimi
feat. Alison Lohman, Justin Long, Lorna Raver, Dileep Rao, David Paymer
Sam Raimi's return to horror naturally arouses unfair expectations. This is the man behind two astonishingly inventive and frightening Evil Dead films, and a hilariously campy one. Granted, another spook-ride, The Gift, proved dissatisfying, showing a bit too much formula, a claim repeated by some for Raimi's Spider-Man movies. However, such blockbuster successes also seemed to promise an even deeper trove of resources for Drag Me to Hell.
On one hand, it's nice to have the old boy back, still committed to mechanical effects, both elaborate and simple, eager and able to evoke maximum squirms and subsequent laughs out of a propulsive bloody nose. He attends to detail and simple human problems amidst the hellfire and damnation with equal concern. And if those humans seem a bit shallow, Christine (if not Lohman) too much the dopey blonde and Clay (Long) too broadly drawn (the character telling us he's a geek doesn't pass as character development,) we're still in standard genre territory.
But that's where Drag disappoints the most. It all feels too easy, a mishmash of horror films we've seen before without that extra edge to top them. This is Raimi on autopilot, slapping together a topical setup (home loan foreclosure), a gypsy curse, a soul damned to Hell, disbelieving loved ones, and a couple experts to help chart the challenging, perhaps impossible, course back to safety. The gross-outs are appropriately timed and stomach-curdling, the scares reasonably seat-grabbing, and the laughs genuinely satisfying, but as a whole, the film only reaches middling. And while I'd like to write off this response to a touch of hero worship, it's not just a case of those expectations rearing their ugly, if well-made-up, heads.
dir. Peter Weir
writ. C.J. Koch (novel), C.J. Koch, Peter Weir, and David Williamson (screenplay)
feat. Mel Gibson, Sigourney Weaver, Linda Hunt, Michael Murphy
Mid-60s Indonesia, amidst the political turmoil under the regime of President Sukarno proves a challenging assignment for Guy Hamilton (Gibson,) in his first role as foreign correspondent. Eager and naive, Hamilton must adapt quickly to the politics, both governmental and interpersonal, of his new home. Photographer Billy Kwan (Hunt, in her Oscar-winning role as a man) guides him along, quickly introducing the dilemma of how one interacts with disastrous poverty and human suffering without offering a helping hand.
This question informs the film, whether in another reporter's patronage of cheap prostitutes, the way Hamilton colors the facts with melodrama, or his conflicted compulsion to use information gathered in bed with likely spy, Jill Bryant (Weaver). With depth and intelligence, Weir successfully explores such shady terrain without attempting to assert impossible and therefore deceptive clear answers. But, even above the thoughtful investigation into one's responsibility in the world is the film's sense of atmosphere. Dark rooms sweat with tropical heat and torrential rain drives people into cramped cars, arousing libidos and the cloying sense of discomfort of a strange land hostile to white Westerners.
writ. and dir. Paul Thomas Anderson
feat. Adam Sandler, Emily Watson, Luis Guzman, Philip Seymour Hoffman, Mary Lynn Rajskub
Barry Egan (Sandler) battles his unnamed phobias and conditions (agoraphobia, mild autism,) squirming through social situations and lashing out when overwhelmed. But there is a cure for Barry in concentrated focus. When he has a mission, he is clear headed and unstoppable. And what better mission than the pursuit of true love.
Punch-Drunk Love plays like a tense epic song, winding increasingly and painfully tight before exploding in release, the knotted stomach unclenching, blood rushing warm.
dir. Hayao Miyazaki
writ. Maurice Leblanc (characters), Monkey Punch (graphic novel), Hayao Miyazaki, Tadashi Yamazaki
Miyazaki's first feature film explodes onto the screen, coming delightfully unhinged within minutes, as Lupin and his buddy (looking a great deal like Captain Beefheart) launch into a chase and shootout, the characters clearly invigorated by the burst of action. This tone is sustained throughout the film, the threat of violence always exciting the characters, a call to adventure.
Though the animation lacks the sophistication of later Miyazaki films (Spirited Away, Howl's Moving Castle,) his storytelling skill is already evident, the plot skipping along, slowing only to build up for the next rush, a balance of pacing and sheer joy.
writ. and dir. Whit Stillman
feat. Carolyn Farina, Edward Clements, Chris Eigeman, Taylor Nichols, Alison Parisi, Dylan Hundley, Isabel Gillies
Did we really need another Molly Ringwald? Audrey (Farina) in Metropolitan feels lifted directly out of Sixteen Candles or Breakfast Club, complete with whining, insecure prattle about painful societal conventions. Except this time around, we lack the humor, and ignore that Audrey should be older and better adjusted. But to single out Audrey is unfair. All the characters in Metropolitan sound canned and half-witted, that kind of movie dialogue that feels read off the page, or the transcription of a conversation by a group of first-year philosophy majors, neither too bright nor too experienced. It's all so tiresome and mewling, the supposedly caustic friend (Eigeman) too often boring and agreeable in his sentiment to the critical viewer. These people seem both phony (as in written, not merely shallow) and dull, just about your worst combination of movie poison.
writ. & dir. Joel and Ethan Coen
feat. Gabriel Byrne, Albert Finney, Marcia Gay Harden, John Turturro, John Polito, J.E. Freeman
Tom Reagan (Byrne) is a good man, and it will ruin him. The Coen bros obscure this fundamental truth that rules Miller's Crossing, Tom's mean-spirited, defiant demeanor and a complexly woven plot disguising his well-meaning motives. Tom's venomous mantra, "Nobody knows anybody. Not that well," intended to declare his distrust for anyone and everyone, bites back, effectively showing that he can't trust himself, his self-serving attitude merely a cover, even a wish, while his deeply buried moral compass guides him to unavoidably help those he loves. Loyalty burns Tom, forcing his hand, even his seemingly traitorous acts circling back to prove him trustworthy.
And just because he's a good man doesn't make him a nice man. He's brutally righteous, and in the wrong business, ultimately forced to choose righteousness over love and friendship with devastating results.
writ. and dir. Philippe Claudel
feat. Kristin Scott Thomas, Elsa Zylberstein, Serge Hazanavicius, Frederic Pierrot, Claire Johnston, Olivier Cruveiller
I've Loved You So Long pulls off a clever bit of deception, disguising itself as the mystery of a quiet, onetime murder, Juliette (Thomas), her return to civilization after a long stint in prison, and the question of why she murdered her young son. In fact, it's about the distance between people and the sometimes slow, awkward process of bridging that gap. Elsa (Zylberstein), Juliette's much younger sibling, barely knew her sister at the time of the crime and initially takes her in upon her release largely out of familial obligation. Their parents rejected Juliette after the crime, never visiting her in prison nor speaking of her, leaving Elsa in the cold, without even reminiscence to paint a picture of the missing family member.
Working to provide a warm and welcoming home for a virtual stranger, Elsa struggles to connect with her sister, battling Juliette's withdrawn, taciturn, and often angry demeanor. Without much warmth and seeming unapologetic for the murder of her son, Juliette's attempt to rebuild her life proceeds slowly and fitfully. This painfully slow and stumbling progress works beautifully and believably, free of the easy and conveniently timed psychological catharsis of Hollywood cinema. Most impressively, the greatest leaps forward are not in Juliette's ability to adapt to the world, nor in the revelation of her reasons for that tragic act, but in the depth and understanding between the two sisters.
