Brief Watchmen thoughts...

As a huge fan of the graphic novel, I thought I would be forced to murder Synder after viewing this film...I was wrong. Synder has crafter a masterpiece, far greater than any graphic novel adaptation thus far...and although some of my favorite parts of the novel were left out, those cuts did nothing to damage the original themes and intentions of the book..

Full review coming soon

Box Office Predictions 3/6-3/8

This weekend is interesting. The only wide release is Watchmen, which looks to break 300's March record and The Matrix Reloaded's R-Rated weekend. The reviews have been unsteady, but that won't stop me (or the legions of other fanboys) from seeing it. But those reviews won't matter; there is nothing else to see. That in mind, it should break both records and then fall off quickly as next weekend has 3 wide releases. Overall, here's what we're looking

1) Watchmen (92.3 million)
2) Tyler Perry's Madea Goes To Jail (7.5 million)
3) Slumdog Millionaire (6.5 million)
4) Taken (6.1 million)
5) Jonas Brothers: The 3D Concert Experience (5.2 million)
6) Paul Blart: Mall Cop (4.1 million)
7) He's Just Not That Into You (3.4 million)
8) Confessions of a Shopaholic (2.9 million)
9) Coraline (2.4 million)
10) Fired Up! (1.8 million)

Opening in limited release are (most notably) 12, The Horsemen, and Everlasting Moments. The Horsemen will be at 75 theaters, looking at 4k per for a total of 300,000. Everlasting Moments is at 5 theaters, looking at 13k per for a total of 65,000. 12's theater count isn't listed, but from what I gather its only at 1 theater in the NYC area, which leads me to believe its count won't be higher than four. Regardless, look for it to pull in about 7k per screen.

The Wrestler (D. Aronofsky, 2008)

The phrase "art imitates life" is often thrown around in a maladroit manner, and can sometimes limit the impact art can have on us. In film, amidst the blockbusters and animation, a few poignant and revealing pictures manage to survive. Pictures that when looked upon by an individual such as myself, deliver such an emotional blow that they linger in your mind for days, and days, and days.
Such a film is pretty rare to come by, and I've often been let down by my desire for such a film invigorating my expectations to a point thats near impossible to please. A scenario that was the likely result of a foray into New York City to catch Darren Aronofsky's The Wrestler, a film I have been following all year. The film was already highly touted, winning the Golden Lion (Best Film) prize at the Venice Film Festival, and the lead actor, Mickey Rourke, gobbling up critics awards for his performance as Randy "The Ram" Robinson, an aging wrestler struggling to cope with his career, his fading glory, and his estranged daughter.
The plot unfolds with terrific prudence, guaranteeing the audience's investment in Randy from the get-go. The film is littered with diverse moments of humanity and privation, which strap the audience into the roller coaster life that belongs to Randy The Ram. From his grueling matches in the basements of recreation centers, to his playful encounters with his fans, his interactions with his only friend, a stripper named Cassidy (Marisa Tomei), and his heartfelt, stirring encounters with his daughter Stephanie (Evan Rachel Wood), the plight of The Ram evolves into a story everyone can relate to, a story about the fear of being lost and forgotten.
The film is carried by the superb direction of Darren Aronofsky (Pi, Requiem For A Dream, The Fountain), and the tour de force provided by Mickey Rourke. Aronofsky creates an atmosphere so cold that it leaves the audience feeling like Randy The Ram. When Randy is prancing about in the ring, you root for him, and with every move he lands, you feel a sense of joy and triumph. You feel every dream of yours become deferred when Randy is told by his doctors his health is declining and he shouldn't wrestle anymore. You hang on every word he says, from his heartfelt attempts to reconnect with Stephanie to his final speech, declaring that only the fans in the arena can tell him when he's through doing his thing. And you do this because looking at Randy the Ram is like looking into a mirror. We've all felt depressed, and we've all had aspirations that never came to fruition. Everyone has experienced loss, and we've all felt the fierce sting of love slipping away. Rourke creates such a memorable character, that at the end of the film, you feel like you've know Randy Robinson all of your life.
Which brings me to the performance of Mickey Rourke; a performance so majestic that it transcends the boundaries of what we know as acting, and into a spectacle that words won't suffice to describe.. Rourke dissolves into his character both physically and mentally; he added twenty-five pounds of muscle for the role, and every line delivered, every facial expression, every emotion he feels, they all seem so real. Maybe its because like Ram, Rourke was considered a has-been. Once called the most talented actor of his generation, Rourke quit acting to become a professional boxer. After that career floundered, Rourke wasn't welcomed back into the graces of Hollywood. Desperate for cash, Rourke lent his services to a variety of straight to video releases and lost nearly all credibility as an actor. With The Wrestler, he's come roaring back, snatching critics awards left and right, and most recently landing a Golden Globe nomination for Best Actor In A Leading Role. The strife that Randy faces is all too familiar to Rourke, that when he delivers his final monologue, you wonder if you're watching a piece of art, or real life.
The rest of the cast is very good, but overshadowed by the eminence that is Rourke. Marisa Tomei delivers a powerful performance as a stripper/mother who tries to reach out to Randy, but finds herself trapped by her professional boundaries. Evan Rachel Wood is sublime as Randy's estranged daughter, showing mature restraint in a role that required to be both nuanced and perturbed. The script by Robert Siegel is tight, and shows a keen understanding of both professional wrestling and life itself. The wrestling scenes are choreographed to perfection; it looks, sounds, and feels like Wrestlemania. To top it all of, Bruce "The Boss" Springsteen provides us with a beautiful titular song that is both desolate and uplifting.
The Wrestler a film I have no qualms with being called a masterpiece. It is a magnificent piece of cinema that manages to be accessible, while maintaining an art-house feel. The ambiguous ending is one that loiters around in your head like vagabonds in Central Park. The tale of Randy The Ram is certainly not one to be missed.

Confessions of a Shopaholic (P. Hogan, 2009)

Confessions of a Shopaholic, the latest offering from producer Jerry Bruckheimer and director P.J. Hogan, would appear to be a timely film that exchanges the ominous for laughs whilst commenting on America's current credit crisis. Instead, the film becomes a self-contradictory juggernaut of cliches and in the end, a disappointing leading lady debut for actress Isla Fisher.
The plot extremely formulaic and predictable; Becky (Isla Fisher) is a "shopaholic." She's in debt and by means of a very predictable twist, finds herself employed at a finance magazine. Becky then falls for the magazine's editor, leading to the typical "person meets love, person gains love, person loses love, person wins back love" story line. The film is a fish-out-of-water comedy so unoriginal that it's insulting. Demographically and content-wise, Shopaholic tries to land in the rank of Legally Blonde and Mean Girls, but lacks the intelligence and aptitude of the former, and the wit of the latter. The script is peppered with cringe-inducing dialogue, and presents nothing new and current, although the character's flaws are very relevant. The film has little satirical bite, and any edge that it shows is quickly drowned by an onslaught of moral cliches. In the end, the screenplay lacks the emotional depth to compensate for weak romantic story, resulting in a boring, unengaging story.
The premise of Shopaholic steers the movie into a very stylish realm, a realm that lets some technical aspects of the film shine. The costume and set designs are gorgeous, and they enable cinematographer Jo Willems to create some striking visuals. There's one shot of nighttime Manhattan illuminated by outdoor lights that is particularly beautiful, and a welcome relief to the scene's terrible action. The combination of James Newton Howard's buoyant, original score and scattered Top 40 pop tracks makes for an interesting accompaniment to a film stricken with platitude. Despite its technical achievements, the film's visual effects are perhaps the worst aspect of the ordeal. Slow motion shopping sequences are sprinkled into the film, shots that serve no artistic purpose and are extremely awkward. It's like Zack Snyder got ahold of one of his nightmares, directed the dream, and committed it to celluloid. Visual effects wizard John Knoll uses his prowess to create talking manikins that look and sound creepy, and disrupt the flow of the movie. End result set aside, the manikin gimmick is also a very cheap way to express Becky's addiction to shopping, leaving the viewer felt beaten by the imposition of the film's theme.
The film's ad campaign featured Isla Fisher alone, holding shopping bags and looking over-her-head. These ads reveal Fisher's performance in a single photograph. Fisher, a talented comedic actress, is very confined in the bloated script, and resorts to unsuccessful physical comedy to evoke laughs; these actions make the actress look as over-her-head in leading lady territory as her character does in her place of employment. Although beautiful in the film, Fisher turns the role into an unamusing character that leaves the audience with no choice but to execrate. The rest of the cast, despite an impressive billing, are adequate filler at best; Hugh Dancy plays the boring love interest, John Goodman and Joan Cusak the archetypal silly parents, and Krysten Ritter the down-to-earth best friend. The cast's collective mediocrity exemplifies the films main fault; looking good doesn't equate to success.
Finally, the film beholds an enormous amount of product placement; from posters of upcoming Bruckheimer productions G-Force and Prince of Persia: The Sands of Time to clothing labels and even vending corporations. It's a puzzling combination, for why would a film that tries to demystify materialism promote material? This question is raised throughout the entire film, leaving one to wonder if the director aimed to create paradoxical cinema.

Bottom Line: Shopaholic values style over substance, which is a striking antithesis to the movie's theme. Due to this, the film makes no point and is nothing more than a pretty waste of time.

Slumdog Millionaire (D. Boyle, 2008)

The last few years, audiences have been treated to a film that sweeps all the major precursor awards on the way to winning the Best Picture Oscar. Last year, it was the Coen Brothers' chilling adaptation of No Country for Old Men; two years ago it was Scorsese's crafty mob drama The Departed. This year, British director Danny Boyle has invited us to regale with his Slumdog Millionaire, one of this years most entertaining and rewarding, albeit flawed, motion pictures.
Slumdog Millionaire tells the story of Jamal, an impoverished Indian teen who is a contestant on Mumbai's version of Who Wants To Be A Millionaire?. Jamal (Dev Patel) works his way up to the final question, a question worth twenty million rupees, and is arrested under the suspicion of cheating on the show. Desperate to prove his innocence, Jamal reveals stories, some painful and others comedic, from his past which explain how he knew the answers. The stories range from colorful anecdotes such as diving through a toilet hole to meet a Bollywood movie star to macabre tales about the death of his mother and downfall of his brother, Salim. Above all, he reveals that the reason he went onto the show in the first place is love, and that theme profoundly resonates throughout the entire piece.
Director Danny Boyle is one of the more versatile and innovative auteurs working today. From his breakthrough Trainspotting, a story about a heroin addict struggling to get by in Edinburgh, Scotland, to zombie flick 28 Days Later..., he manages to keep his films enthralling and consequential without being pretentious. Slumdog is no exception to this. The movie has a life of its own; vibrant, full of vim, and downright fun. What really impresses me about Slumdog Millionaire and Boyle's direction is the film's balance. The intense and depressing scenes hit home, but aren't outdone, rather eclipsed by the inspirational moments. This stability is what makes Slumdog the feel good movie of the year, and also probably why it has been connecting with audiences so well.
Just about every aspect of this film deserves recognition, but none moreso than A.R. Rahman's score and Anthony Dod Mantle's photography. Boyle films are typically packed with color, part of what makes them so interesting to watch. Cinematographer Anthony Dod Mantle uses bright lighting to its fullest, each of his 35mm shots brimming with buoyancy and assurance, even in the most nefarious of situations. Rahman's score accompanies the action on the screen perfectly; never drowning out the activity but evoking a livelihood in the viewer. The songs are upbeat and ebullient, making Jamal's transition from 'slumdog' to 'millionaire' more effective than the screen story can simply tell.
Normally, a good half of my article is devoted to the movie's acting. However, Slumdog Millionaire has no great or poor performance, just a collection of solid ones. The strongest performance comes from Ayush Mahesh Khedekar, who plays Jamal at his youngest, and although barely old enough for kindergarten, carries the first third of the film quite eloquently. The other performance I'd single out is Anil Kapoor as Prem Kumar, the gameshow host with questionable intentions. Kapoor is very charismatic and embodies the 'slick' persona quite well. The weakest performance is from Freida Pinto as Latika, the love interest. Although not bad, Pinto's delivery of the film's final line is pretty poor, and doesn't live up to the film's quality. This could be due to the sappy nature of the line though, and since Latika is Pinto's first screen role, her delivery is excusable.
Slumdog isn't a perfect film by any means. The screenplay, written by Simon Beaufoy, is very powerful but leaves spacious room to critique. For example, many of the answers that Jamal gives are derived from memories from when he was three, four and five. Realistically, nobody remembers that perfectly that far back, and even traumatic events would be distorted in order to cope with them. Also, the script is rather cliched and structured very similarly to City of God (another rags to riches 'slum' movie, except taking place in Brazil), which hampers the innovative nature of the film. The cliches also take away from the film's realism, and at times disconnect the audience from the story (this is what I call the fairytale effect; everybody wants to be the princess, but they know they won't, therefore they can't empathize with the princess' struggle). There are some questionable ethics to the film's production and distribution, particularly complains that it exploits the city of Mumbai. Having never been to Mumbai, I can't have an opinion on this, but the majority of the backlash is coming from people who live there, so I'd reason that the charges have some validity.
Overall, Slumdog Millionaire is a dynamic motion picture that although not flawless, deserves to be seen.

The International (T. Twyker, 2009)

A couple weeks ago, I found myself struggling with what to see as it seemed I was surrounded my horror remakes (Friday The 13th, My Bloody Valentine 3-D), or typical chick flicks (He's Just Not That Into You, Confessions of a Shopaholic). So when I had the opportunity to see The International, a political thriller with a promising cast and acclaimed director, I jumped at it, thinking I was going to be subject to a rare early-year gem. What I received was a film that although masterfully shot, falls victim to self-absorbance and a pivotal phoned-in performance, resulting in a disappointing cinema experience.
The plot of The International is allegedly straightforward; an Interpol agent and a Manhattan assistant A.D.A. are attempting to expose the International Bank of Business and Commerce's (IBBC) role in an global arms dealing ring. However the film tries to separate itself from its familiar cat-and-mouse plot structure by means of intellectual realism (a few big words and pop culture references don't mean your plot could happen in our world) leading to a convoluted and jumbled second act. This sense of realism leads to other troubles for the film, as it begins to take itself too seriously and has to rely on rushed, heavy-handed dialogue and contrived jump cuts to tie together its plot threads. The awkwardness of these scenes are the antithesis to the fast pace; the film often feels sluggish and limps its way across the finish line long after the tape was broken. In the end, its typical, successful plot is lost to an unsuccessful attempt at originality, leaving the viewer unfulfilled as the credits rolled.
Another problem I had with the script was that it became fairly pretentious towards the end, trying to force a theme of circularity upon the viewer. We are never provided with a proper background for any of our characters, and the little information we receive tells us that both our Agent and our A.D.A. have been chasing this bank for a long time, and has been consistently thwarted by the bank's henchmen. This theme of circularity is also touched upon by employees of the IBBC, who proclaim that even if they are stopped, the cycle of gun trading and funding of war will never be. Circularity comes to an apex during an excellent shootout in the Guggenheim museum (more on that later), whose inside is a series of circular staircases and exhibits along those stairs. Themes in thrillers aren't uncommon at all, but in films such as The Bourne Identity, the theme is clearly illustrated by the movie's plot, not by the magniloquent dialogue and ostentatious events that weigh down The International.
The movie's billing is impressive, boasting three Oscar nominees in the three largest roles. Clive Owen (Children of Men, Inside Man) plays our Interpol agent, Louis Salinger. Salinger is a typical antihero, complete with flawed past and disregard for the rules. Salinger is like an unsuccessful version of 24's Jack Bauer and Owen embodies the role well, managing to portray a man on the brink of a meltdown without resorting to acting cliches such as pointless, dramatic yelling or a breakdown right before the climax. Naomi Watts (Mulholland Dr., 21 Grams) plays A.D.A. Eleanor Whitman, a cliche riddled character that serves no true purpose but to put a pretty face next to Owen. Watts seems extremely forced and uncomfortable in her role, leading to terrible chemistry with Owen. Some scenes between the two (especially one in an elevator that was supposed to provide comic relief) were painful to watch; for when does prosthetic and natural ever eloquently mix? Veteran actor Armin Mueller-Stahl (Eastern Promises, Shine) turns in a convincing performances as the IBBC's source of information, Wilhelm Wexler, but unfortunately is wasted in melodramatic moments and faux character arcs. The film never lives up to its billing, leaving this acting fan very disappointed with the film's two hour running time.
In their most common form, movies are meant to be entertainment, and The International excels in that realm. The visuals are extremely impressive, from long range shots of Owen (appearing tiny and inconsequential) walking into the grandiose, intimidating structure of the IBBC, to downright beautiful sequences on rooftops in Turkey and nighttime Berlin. In fact, the film is a great little world tour, with sequences in Manhattan, London, Italy, and the aforementioned Berlin and Turkey. The most impressive sequence in the film is the shootout inside the Guggenheim Museum in Manhattan. The museum's annular staircases, which run parallel to one another, make for a terrific setting for a breathtaking shootout in which nobody has cover, causing a chaotic spectacle pleasing on both technical and amusement levels. What is truly astonishing about the scene is that it was shot inside the actual museum, and no real damage came out of it. Seeing this feat, one of the better gunfights I've ever seen, on a big screen is worthy of the price of admission itself.
In the end, The International lacks the coherence of the Bourne trilogy and the style of the Bond films, leaving it to be a formulaic, familiar and unsuccessful thriller. However, its impressive photography and action sequences are enough for me to recommend this to anyone looking for an entertaining, albeit flawed movie.

Defiance (E. Zwick, 2008)

Defiance is a film that tells the story of the Bielski partisan, three Jewish brothers who during World War II, built a sanctuary in the Belrussian forest where they hid Jewish refugees from Nazi raids. The incredible thing about the Bielski brothers is that they aimed not to attack and harm Nazi's, but simply to save their fellow Jews from the horrors they were enduring. With a talented cast headlined by Daniel Craig (Casino Royale, Quantum of Solace), Liev Schreiber (Hamlet, the upcoming X-Men Origins: Wolverine) and Jamie Bell (Jumper, Billy Elliot), an Oscar winning director in Edward Zwick (Blood Diamond, The Last Samurai) and a powerful, true story, the film looked like a surefire hit on paper. However, Defiance was a cold reminder that movies are produced on celluloid, not papyrus.
The film was clearly set up to be an actors showcase, but quickly turns into a mess of melodramatic, annoying, amateurish imitation (I can squint, whine, and yell too Jamie Bell). Daniel Craig, who is given the meatiest role as Tuvia Bielski, the eldest brother and de facto leader of the camp, simply seemed to channel his James Bond in a situation far dire than any of the spies adventures. For most of the film, he relied on the Bond charm and good looks to comfort the other refugees, and during the few dramatic scenes, he leaves his Belrussian accent at the door and goes into rebellious, shoot 'em up Bond mode. This isn't necessarily a bad thing, but I highly doubt that Tuvia Bielski was flagrantly shooting Nazi officers in their own home, dodging bullets in the dead of the night, and maneuvering back to the forest camp without any problems. I also doubt that Bielski's accent would disappear whenever he raised his voice, something that quickly becomes a lasting nuisance throughout the film.
Jamie Bell plays the youngest brother, and is supposed to draw our sympathy, being the unfortunate soul forced into the devastation of war by the Axis of Evil. I feel for his character, Asael Bielski, and all those who were subject to horror during the Holocaust, but Bell's Asael came off as arrogant, self-righteous, and rather close-minded. Then, with roughly twenty minutes left in the film, Asael turns into this 'Superman' type; herding all the refugees to safety and managing to lead a group that two scenes ago, rebelled against him, while Tuvia sits pensively on a rock. It's truly one of the more ridiculous examples of character development I've ever seen, but more on the horrendous script later.
As for Schreiber, he delivers as Asa Bielski, the middle child and renegade of the group. His performance is steadfast and often provides the intensity and fear that would've existed in all the characters during their ordeal. Much to my dismay, he was cast in a very cliche role; the middle child gets upset by the older sibling's superiority, so he runs off and does the opposite of what the sibling stands for, only to come back in the end and save the sibling. I could've dealt with the cliches and the inaneness of it all if Schreiber had been there the entire time, dominating the screen and commanding attention. But we only see him for the first thirty and last thirty minutes of the film, leaving a good hour and fifteen minutes of acting hell in between. The supporting cast was downright annoying, with only one refugee performance worth watching. This was a two minute cameo from veteran character actor Mark Margolis (The Wrestler, The Fountain) as a Jewish Ghetto Elder hell bent on not joining the Bielski brigade. He outacts the thirty some-odd characters in his scene with ease, and made Craig look like Eli Manning in the company of the Eagle's defense.
However, I can't thrust all blame upon the actors for the one dimensional performances. Actors can only work with the script that they're given, and the creative vision of the director. Edward Zwick is a very accomplished director who usually turns in thought provoking, engaging work. However, his script is so fatuous, vapid, and cliche riddled, that I can't conceive a way that this project was greenlit, and furthermore, attracted the attention of Craig, Bell, Schreiber, composer James Newton Howard, cinematographer Eduardo Serra, and distributor Paramount Vantage. The dialogue is downright senseless, making the characters seem debilitated and helpless. For example, the Nazi soldiers are attacking the Bielski camp. Tuvia and Asael are warding off the advances of the Germans, but behind them, all we hear are complaints about the cold, about having to cross a river, and about the Germans. Zwick wants us to show solicitude toward his characters, but he makes them impossible to like, rendering the film's message pointless.
Another major problem with the script is its lack of direction. The film's focal point is the Bielski brothers, and what great heroes they are. However, the film doesn't choose whether it wants to be a film exploiting the deprivation of dehumanized people a la Schnidler's List, or a war film with hints about camaraderie a la Saving Private Ryan. Because of this, the film never hits its stride, leading to awkward cuts between battle and camp life, and lame subplots (such as a love story for each of the brothers) that throw the film further offcourse. As a veteran of Hollywood, Zwick should've chosen a tone for his film and then fit the story of the Bielski's into it, instead of taking a very interesting, undertold story, and trying to make a film around it. Zwick also fails to give us any background of the Bielski's, how they knew about the forest, or specific events during their ordeal. This was extremely disappointing to a viewer like myself, who wanted to not only be entertained, but to be informed about the Bielski struggle. The courage of the Bielski brigade and its followers deserved a better product than what I had the displeasure of viewing.
Of course, it wasn't all bad. Defiance, shot in Lithuania, is a marvel to look at. Serra makes excellent use of natural lighting, making us feel like we are in the woods, watching these exiles attempt to survive. James Newton Howard provides us with a compelling score that eases the pain evoked by the films dialogue. And of course, Craig gets one vigilante scene, which although feels like a deleted scene from Casino Royale, was the definition of riveting cinema.
I'm not going to tell you to avoid Defiance at all costs. The film does bring an important historical event to life, one which I personally had no knowledge of before learning about the film. However, if you're looking for anything more than light hearted entertainment, save this one for DVD.

Welcome..

"There is a haven for film, beyond that which is known to man. It is a dimension as vast as space and as timeless as infinity. It is the middle ground between light and shadow, between science and superstition, and it lies between the pit of man's fears and the summit of his knowledge. This is the dimension of imagination. It is an area which we call the Auteur's Corner."

There is no better introduction to anything than Rod Serling's famous lead-in to every episode of The Twilight Zone. This is a blog devoted to people like Mr. Serling; auteurs, writers, actors etc. Readers will be privy to reviews of all types of movies -- both new release and old --, the occasional album review, Oscar Picks/Prognostications, personal lineups (updated monthly), weekly box office predictions, random rants about film and music, and my thoughts that nobody wants to hear. So without further ado, relax and read the words of yet another film blogger