Month: October 2019

Cut to Black

The Lighthouse – 2019

I’m a romantic about lighthouses.  I love their symbolism, beacons of light in the darkness, sources of strength, guidance, and hope. I carry around a Lighthouse Passport and collect stamps for every one visited. Friends shower me with gifts with a lighthouse motif. I’m a proud card-carrying member of the U.S. Lighthouse Society looking forward to the time when I can join their lighthouse travel tours. Then comes this movie. Well, where to begin? The Lighthouse was shot in black and white and used filming techniques that mimic the silent movie boxy look. The effect was like watching 110 screen minutes squinting through a square storm cloud. The nostalgic benefit of a silent movie is lively organ music bubbling up from the orchestra pit. The sound effect of this movie was the unrelenting deafening and deadening moan of a fog horn. At first it jarred me. Eventually it sedated me and for a short while I oozed along in morbid rhythm with the drab and drizzle.  Disrupting my fog horn catatonia were crashing waves of fights, farts, mud, blood, and vomit bracketed by grotesque scenes of repulsive cistern contamination, mermaid masturbation and seagull penis-pecking. Set at the end of the 19th century on a remote, bleak island off the New England coast, two men, Keeper Thomas Wake (Willem Defoe) and flunkie Ephraim Winslow (Robert Pattinson), find themselves tending the lighthouse together for a one month watch. Dipping into Herman Melville manuscripts to salt the dialogue of madness and drawing from maritime superstitions and seafaring tales of mermaids, seabirds, sailors, and tentacled monsters, we are held captive in this noxious cinematic hallucination just like Thomas and Ephraim are held captives on their claustrophobic, wave-pounded, misery-making, isolated island of horror. No way off. For them. No way out. For me. Somewhere after the drunken ax attack but before the psychotic Fresnel lens lunacy, I considered packing up and walking out. Instead I sat, stubbornly believing that a lighthouse movie would eventually flicker with a tiny ray of redemptive illumination. Well, it didn’t. There is an inside joke in my household about “cut to black” movies. Sensing unrequited plot resolution, the inevitable fate of many indie art house films, one of us will lean over and whisper “cut to black.” Predictably, the screen will simply go dark and the credits roll, a feeble, faux-creative strategy pressed into action when (1) the director runs out of ideas about how to end the movie, or (2) the producer runs out of money. So there you have it. The Lighthouse. Cut to black. 

Shoot Twice or Forever Rest In Peace

Zombieland: Double Tap – 2019

Despite a raft of friendly “You won’t like it,” warnings, the type of movies I’m most willing to chance are those campy, preposterous, outrageous films that hit the big screen on $5 Tuesdays. With that shameless criteria, Fandango, take me away! Destination Tallahassee (redneck Woody Harrelson), Columbus (nerdy Jesse Eisenberg), Wichita (unflappable Emma Stone), Little Rock (lonely Abigail Breslin) and Madison (airhead Zoey Deutch). The national countryside is a swath of decay and rubble starting with the abandoned White House that our ragtag Zombie hunters claim as their personal amusement park home. So long as Honest Abe’s portrait is covered, preventing a judgmental leer at the squatting interlopers, life in and around the Oval Office is a playful, wacky romp. But fault lines crack the casa blanca merriment, fracture the relationship marryment and disrupt the foursome’s fidelity, launching a Rule #2 Double Tap cross-country rescue mission. From Maryland to Graceland to Babylon, a weaponless haven for peacenik hippies, this thoroughly entertaining zombie demolition derby rollicks and rolls along ramshackle highways for 99 minutes of absurd hilarity. Ten years after the 2009 original, this stellar alumni cast clearly relish their divergent roles and their full throttle enthusiasm easily reeled me in. A weekday discount matinee is also guaranteed to reel in a smattering of odd ducks who beat a retreat from the streets and find temporary respite in a theater. My matinee bonus was a back row of untethered young men who served as my de facto laugh track, helping me decipher and interpret the onscreen dialogue and action just like I was a Zombieland insider. Unfortunately one of the raucous group was so inebriated from his steady stream of bar orders that when the house lights came up, his pals were following Rule #29, The Buddy System, in an all-together-now lounger extraction effort. Good luck with that. He was stuck under his tray. So, to my doubting cohort of friends, surprise! I actually liked this playful, zany, zombie apocalypse flick. Go on now and enjoy your own discount matinee fun! Just remember to follow the rules, #32 Check the Back Seats for Zombies,  #4 Buckle Up, and most importantly Rule #32: Enjoy the Little Things, this movie being one. 

Game of Moans

Maleficent: Mistress of Evil

Five years ago I saw Maleficent 1 and I think I liked it. Pretty sure but I don’t really remember. Now I’ve seen Maleficent 2 or Mistress of Evil. In five years I’ll remember this: I did not like it. There were a lot of strange creatures, the tiny mushrooms were, well, creepy. The “don’t raise your roots to me,” lurching tree people were, well, weird.  And then there were the fairies, so many strange little fairies. Ironic that during the same week NASA astronauts Jessica Meir and Christina Koch marked the historic first ever all-female spacewalk, Disney delivered three female leads that led nowhere. We get pitiful, weepy Princess Aurora (Elle Fanning); conniving, evil, Queen Ingrith (Michelle Pfeiffer), and the great horned antihero Maleficent (Angelina Jolie). Character development was DOA. Relationships lacked chemistry, unless you count iron, Kryptonite to the Moorsfolk and I don’t. The storyline periodically collapsed, like the writers knocked off and took a contractual hiatus. Maybe they flipped on Game of Thrones and caught some episodes because there were several times in Maleficent when I felt I was watching a GoT rip-off. (Apologies in advance to those of you who won’t recognize these HBO series references). As the church in the human kingdom was barricaded and the poor, unwitting woodland creatures and harmless fairies, guests of the royal wedding, desperately struggled to escape a ruthless poison massacre, I’m thinking, damn, Red Wedding. When Maleficent inevitably erupts into a cosmic rage, she totally turns into Mad Queen Daenerys and annihilates Ulstead, homeland of vapid, dull-as-dirt Prince Phillip (Harris Dickinson). “You must stop! This is not war, it’s slaughter!” Sound familiar? Hear The Bells? I scanned critic reviews after the movie and several times the word “genocide” was used.  Yes, genocide. Disney? Good god. The Mistress of Evil is a Trojan Horse that drops R-rated mayhem full of treasonous pixies, hateful humans, and winged denizens of darkness into unsuspecting PG audiences. Seriously, who would knowingly take little kids to this movie? I’m sorry I took myself. 

Getting the Willies

Gemini Man – 2019


Will Smith carved a forever fan heart into my movie loving spirit with his “Welcome to earth” alien knockout scene in 1996’s ID4 Independence Day. Happily in Gemini Man I get not one, but two Wills, 23-year old cloned Junior, the top gun mercenary of the bad guys, and 51-year Harry Brogan, the top gun assassin of the good guys. A third Will crops up later but doesn’t get much air time before a newly united Harry and Junior snuff him out. Shades of Whack-a-Will. Junior, the bad guys’ mercenary is sent on a mission to kill his DNA donor dad, Harry. Of course, neither donor nor son know this test tube genesis story at the first or second round of assassin mayhem as the Wills chase and fight each other across three continents. Then the good guys and bad guys switch roles asking the audience to entertain a philosophic interlude between popcorn refills: What if it were possible to breed emotionless, conscious-free, combat-perfect clones in order to save the lives of American servicemen and women? The august and dignified UK, we’re reminded, started it all with Dolly the cloned sheep. Why stop at sheep or pigs, why not create the flawless soldier? All heads turn to Junior. What about him? Well? Well? Fortunately we weren’t held captive in the philosophy of ethics movie class for too long before we were back dodging grenades, reloading Uzis, and careening, cartwheeling and somersaulting across sky, earth and water, finally plummeting to the catacomb depths landing in skull piles. It is the face-to-face, mano-a-clono encounter that pivots the story from science to humanity, from head to heart. The last 30 minutes of this nearly two hour film presents haunting moments of moral decision and indecision, choices between loyalty and integrity, duty and decency. Don’t worry, the human insights are framed in the midst of a barrage of clever special effects and tumultuous action. No softness dare compromise blazing bullets and broken glass. No sir! But, trust me, the deeper questions don’t fade away in the grenade smoke. You be the Gemini judge. 

A Journey Home

Abominable – 2019


If I were too hard on a $5 Tuesday matinee, animated kids movie, I would be forced to assign myself to the curmudgeon critic category. So, I’ll focus on Abominable’s pluses. Writer-director, Jill Culton, is the first-ever woman to solo direct an animated film with a female lead so I was witness to history for a mere $5. The beauty and splendor of China kept my eyes mostly open through the absolutely predictable plot. Everest, the captured baby Yeti, escapes a Shanghai lab, is relentlessly tracked by evil researchers and fortuitously hooks up with a trio of likable city teens who help defy the hunters. We meet independent, headstrong Yi who is grieving the death of her father, hip and trendy ladies’ man Jin, and chubby, rough and tumble Peng. These three kind of, kind of not friends accompany big-eyed, fluffy, snowkid Everest across China to his Himalayan home. This journey includes two memorable scenes of elegant, creative cinematography: a goldenrod field of flowers forms into a massive wave that slowly rises up and crashes down with the crescendo of a tsunami, and a billowing and flowing river of koi-like clouds swimming upstream across the sky. Along the way, Yi plays her father’s violin like a virtuoso, striking a synchronistic chord with nature that elicits pure enchantment. All pluses. It’s a sweet movie, definitely made for kids, no adult innuendo or subplots lurk at any level. The filmmakers skip over anything the least bit gnarly. The ‘how‘ of the death of Yi’s father and the ‘why’ of the respectful but strained relationship between Yi, mom and grandma are left to our imagination. Kumbaya hugs come at the end so I guess that’s enough. Then to quibble a tiny bit, how did the kids hop scotch through rivers, forests and mountains without so much as a jacket? At least they could have shivered once or twice. Ah, retreat to suspending belief. The magic of movies.  For sure, for sure, for sure stay all the way through the credits. There is an instant “Abominable, the Sequel,” roll out that will reward your patience and send you from the theater with a smug smile for anyone who up and left at movie’s end. 

Joker’s Wild

Joker – 2019

I grew up at a Sierra sawmill. We mountain kids developed strong brand allegiances and we would argue and occasionally resort to fisticuffs to protect the honor of our chosen trade name.  Ford or Chevy? Ford! Jif or Skippy? Skippy! DC or Marvel? DC! Once a month the tiny general store across the creek received a shipment of new comics. I’d empty my piggy bank and be first in line when the store opened gathering up Superman, Superboy, Supergirl, Aquaman, Wonder Woman, Justice League and Batman comics at 10¢ each. A reading orgy commenced. This is the era I met Batman’s nemesis, the Joker, originally created as a homicidal serial killer but who morphed into a goofy, ridiculous, thieving trickster when in 1954 the newly formed Comic Code Authority descended !SWOOP! on the comic book world, promoting mass burnings and demanding a ban on carnage and sexual innuendo so young males would be deterred from !BOOM! juvenile delinquency and HUH? homosexuality. !ZAP! Fast forward 50 years and meet Joaquin Phoenix, DC’s 2019 Joker and we’ve circled back to the beginning, Joker as Gotham’s homicidal serial killer. Phoenix’s psychotic channeling of Arthur Fleck, the Joker, is so nightmarish and god awful, skin-crawling creepy !POW! that we may have to brace ourselves for a revival of the Comic Code Authority. !SMASH! Arthur, the abused clown, writhes and slithers into the role of maniacal abuser, flowing into twisted, contorted dancing to navigate demented, disturbing, and delusional episodes. !SPLAT! The more whiteface and rouge Arthur applies and the longer and more grotesque the dance, the greater the madness and mayhem ahead. Consider yourself warned. !WHAM! Mark my words, if the stodgy Academy can shake off their anti-comic book/graphic novel bias, Joaquin Phoenix will win Best Actor for his raw interpretive performance of insanity. !KABOOM!

Stop Clowning Around

It Chapter 2 – 2019

The best thing about thrillers is the surge and ebb of the collective audience fear factor. I like it when people around me are cringing, pulling hoodies over their eyes, jumping out of their skin, screaming in unison…..well, I saw It Chapter 2 in an audience of three, including myself. The only fear factor was whether I was going to miss the ending with a desperation restroom run. Have pity, the movie is almost three hours long. Plan ahead. The movie is vintage Stephen King with a menagerie of blood gushing ghouls and spittle oozing monstrosities. Because I had no auditorium allies to amp up my terror, I settled for counting how many differently designed   hobgoblins and freaks pop out of nowhere to chase down the reconvened Loser’s Club, 27 years after Pennywise the sewer clown was defeated. I lost count. It was like a Halloween parade. The instigator, the audacious leader of this entourage of creeps, Pennywise is back, dismembering and cannibalizing Derry, Maine children and townspeople. Consequently, six of the seven, now adult members of the Loser’s Club, honor their preadolescent promise to return home and kill It if the killer clown ever came back. Hunt on. What I appreciated far more than the onslaught of bizarre creatures of gore was the storytelling juxtaposition of the personable kids of yore, perfectly matched  to their adult counterparts.  When the 2017 It was released—becoming the highest-grossing horror film of all time—I fell in love with those seven kids. It made me happy no end when It, the 2019 sequel, effectively weaved all the characters, youth and adult, present and past, in the righteous fight to kill the supernatural monster It once and for all. Even better, in order to eradicate It, each adult character was required to confront and slay their own personal monsters once and for all. We witness how familial and environmental stressors take root with the kids, eventually exacting a damaging toll on their adult lives. The intersection of a paranormal, terrestrial Monster with human psychological monsters is a strategic and creative plot device. It Chapter 2 is more gory than scary. The psychic layers are predictable but compelling. The adult cast isn’t as powerful or engaging as the young actors but the matchups work and the action flows without compromise. In the horror film genre, Stephen King stories are reliably entertaining, often terrifying and sometimes provocative. Think Christine, Carrie and Cujo. If you like the genre, take it from me and see both Its. You won’t be disappointed. 

No Pot of Gold at the End of this Rainbow

Judy – 2019

     

I expanded my vocabulary by one word with this film. “Biopic” is a biographical drama that zooms in on a key period in the historical person’s life. Biopic roles, I learned, are considered the most demanding in acting. In this film Renée Zellweger portrayed Judy Garland in the final months of Garland’s excruciating march to death. Indeed Zellweger owned the stage for this movie, commanded the screen, definitely and deservedly Best Actress material when the award season arrives. But I just couldn’t give in to her portrayal of Garland, as Oscar touting as Zellweger’s performance most assuredly was. I kept fidgeting in my heated theater lounge recliner, fiddling with my up and down controls, moving my drink from one cup holder to the other, debating with myself, “Is this film more about Renée Zellweger playing Judy Garland or more about Judy Garland being played by Zellweger?” Heck, I didn’t have any such mental misgivings with Rami Malek as Bohemian Rhapsody’s Freddie Mercury.  He was great. Loved him and the movie. No lounge squirming whatsoever. So what’s up with poor Renée as Judy’s Judy?  This. I’m protective of Judy Garland. She is forever Dorothy. She is forever tuned in once a year in the 50’s and 60’s to televisions across America as we families gathered to watch the annual telecast of the Wizard of Oz, considered by many as the most iconic and influential film of all time. So if Hollywood is going to yank Dorothy and Toto out of my memory arms or wrench the wickedly witty, talented, forever young Judy Garland from my heart, it best be for something worthier than setting the stage for Renée Zellweger to land an Oscar. It better be for something more insightful than showing Judy sprawled drugged and drunk on a London stage to a sold out audience chucking debris at her. That may indeed be biopic but to me it was myopic. Judy is a parochial drama that revealed nothing new, no redemptive disclosures, no remedy to pain. We all know the ending of any film, excuse me, biopic about Judy Garland. We all know about her harsh Vaudeville actress mother who Garland called “the real Wicked Witch of the West.” We are familiar with the agonizing rising star story of how, signed at age 13, Louie B. Mayer’s MGM launched Garland on a tempestuous career of industry barbiturate and amphetamine and dieting abuse. We all know her sad, predictable, stumbling, self-destructive overdose destiny. In 1969 at age 47 Judy Garland ended her life, whether accidentally or willfully it really doesn’t matter. She died in England. I actually didn’t know that factoid. Is it true that English audiences turned on her, pelting her with bread rolls? Yes, it is. And I hate them. So, cheers to Renée Zellweger. Her talent indisputable. Her performance impeccable. This film is definitely worth seeing….for Zellweger, just not for Judy.