REVIEW: A Dangerous Method

A Dangerous Method (2011): Dir. David Cronenberg. Written by: Christopher Hampton, based on his play The Talking Cure, based on the book A Most Dangerous Method by John Kerr. Starring: Viggo Mortensen, Michael Fassbender, Keira Knightley and Vincent Cassel. Rated R (Some kinky sex). Running time: 94 minutes. 

3 ½ stars (out of four)

Carl Jung and Sigmund Freud were masters of the human psyche so it should come as no surprise that their own unconscious minds were as subject to analysis as any of their patients’. The revolutionary field of psychoanalysis, referred to at the turn of the century as “the talking cure,” brought in a new era of self-awareness and its founders were perhaps more prone than anyone to scrutinize their every thought and desire.

A Dangerous Method, directed by David Cronenberg and adapted by Christopher Hampton from his own stage play, introduces Carl Jung (Michael Fassbender) as he tests his “talking cure” on a newly admitted patient named Sabina Spielrein (Keira Knightly), a ravenous young Russian woman prone to fits and spasms. In a single whirlwind session, he gets her to discuss her childhood experience being spanked by her father. The spankings, she confesses to Jung, excited her.

Enter Freud, played with dignified stoicism by Viggo Mortensen and rarely seen not smoking a classically phallic cigar. Jung visits Freud’s Vienna home to discuss their research and is thrilled to find an intellectual advisor with whom he can discuss his radical ideas. Freud takes him on as a mentor or rather, as Jung more explicitly describes their relationship, Jung takes Freud on as a “father figure.” Their friendship begins to wane, however, when Jung takes interest in subjects Freud dismisses as mysticism. Freud fears interest in a field such as telepathy will only fuel skeptics’ criticism of their work.

On these topics and others Freud and Jung engage one another and the film is loosely structured around a series of conversations between them and between Jung and Spielrein. Sometimes they discuss their ideas in speculative theoretical terms; sometimes they apply their theories to their own dreams and feelings.

The fun of these conversations is watching these historical characters influence one another, not only in their academic work but in their personal lives. A wonderfully slimy Vincent Cassel appears in a brief supporting role as Otto Gross, a psychiatrist Freud recommends stay with Jung for treatment. Gross is a married man and proud polygamist who sees no harm in sleeping with his patients. These so-called deviances, he explains to Jung, are simply part of the natural order of things. Why deprive yourself what you want? What your mind and body need? These persuasive ideas get Jung into trouble when Spielrein expresses interest in expanding their current physician-patient relationship.

Mr. Cassel also gets one of the film’s more audacious lines (and I paraphrase): “Perhaps the reason Freud is so obsessed with sex is because he isn’t getting any.” There are a number of moments like this in the film – a jolt of humor or an unexpectedly frank remark that reminds us of the unpredictable alchemy that occurs when two people interact. Too often historical dramas and biopics present their characters the way their public personas made them seem rather than allowing them to be vibrant, complex human beings as they are here.

The performances reinforce this. Mr. Fassbender’s Jung is a man of impeccable reserve but watch how a boyish excitement creeps into his voice when talking with Freud, or how emotionally vulnerable he becomes in Spielrein’s company. Ms. Knightley’s performance is a risky one; her facial tics and stuttering speech in the opening scenes are pronounced to an almost distracting degree but she pulls it off. Her choices are bold but consistent. In later scenes, after Spielrein has been treated, she still speaks with the cautious pace of someone who has no less than a dozen thoughts running through her mind and must sift through them to select the words that will reveal her true emotions the least.

Viggo Mortensen commands an austere presence as Freud, enunciating his words with the clarity and confidence of a man who does not think he is right but, rather, knows he is. This is Mr. Mortensen’s third consecutive collaboration with David Cronenberg (A History of Violence and Eastern Promises are the other two) and the pairing has thus far resulted in some of the best work of either’s career.

A Dangerous Method is rich with period detail and beautifully shot by Mr. Cronenberg’s longtime cinematographer collaborator, Peter Suschitzky. Mr. Cronenberg and Mr. Hampton also stay true to the period in more subtle ways. The film does not hesitate to explore sexual taboos of the era and makes reference to rising tensions between Aryans and Jews, including an odd premonition from Jung late in the film that seems to predict the coming World Wars. These unexpected wrinkles are what make the film so enticing. This is a succinct and relatively brief film (most of Mr. Cronenberg’s movies are) but leaves room for strange and pleasantly perplexing inclusions.

The ending feels anticlimactic at first but the movie never makes many major dramatic moves prior to this so a low-key finish is appropriate. The film is a study of relationships and the nuances and details of its characters’ interactions are what my mind continues to turn over days after seeing it.

- Steve Avigliano, 12/30/11

REVIEW: The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo

The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo (2011): Dir. David Fincher. Written by: Steven Zaillian. Based on the novel by Stieg Larsson. Starring: Daniel Craig, Rooney Mara, Christopher Plummer, Stellan Skarsgård, Steven Berkoff, Robin Wright, Yorick van Wageningen and Joely Richardson. Rated R (Language, sex and graphic violence including rape). Running time: 158 minutes.

3 ½ stars (out of four)

David Fincher’s The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, the second film adaptation of Stieg Larsson’s best-selling novel following the 2009 European box office hit, is a lean, brutal thriller both highly stylized and remarkably economical.

After a brief prologue the film kicks off with a blistering cover of Led Zeppelin’s “Immigrant Song” by Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross (who also scored the film) and featuring a wailing Karen O of the Yeah Yeah Yeahs on vocals. The movie builds off this initial burst of energy and proceeds to rocket down its dark, twisted path at a breakneck speed.

I should admit I had a strong familiarity with the plot prior to seeing the film, having only just recently watched the earlier Swedish version directed by Niels Arden Oplev. Considering the popularity of the source material, I imagine many others will have an even more intimate knowledge of this labyrinthine mystery than I. Still, I was surprised to find how involving the film was in spite of this, thanks in no small part to Mr. Fincher’s impeccable craftsmanship and Steven Zaillian’s lean, efficient script.

Information is doled out quickly and in the fewest words possible (and there is quite a lot of information to take in) but though the film is briskly paced, it is never hurried. I imagine Mr. Fincher and his editors, Kirk Baxter and Angus Wall, pared every scene down to its absolute essentials, which says something about the wealth of strong material here because the movie clocks in at 158 minutes.

Our navigator through this icy, depraved Sweden is Mikael Blomkvist (Daniel Craig), a journalist for Millennium magazine who has been convicted of libeling a wealthy businessman, Hans-Erik Wennerström (Ulf Friberg). Blomkvist’s evidence, which accused Wennerström of financial and moral corruption, turned out to have been falsified, leading Blomkvist to believe he was the fall guy in an elaborate set-up. The damages from the lawsuit cost him his life savings and the controversy forces him to take a temporary leave of absence from the magazine, of which he is also a co-owner.

Amidst the fallout of the lawsuit, Blomkvist receives an invitation to meet with Henrik Vanger (Christopher Plummer), an aging businessman who lives on the island, Hedestad. Henrik wants to hire Blomkvist to investigate the disappearance of his niece, Harriet (Moa Garpendal), who he believes was murdered by a member of the Vanger family, all of whom live on the island, nearly forty years ago.

Blomkvist is understandably apprehensive but the price is right and once he begins his investigation it is clear he thrives on this sort of thing. Daniel Craig’s Blomkvist is a hard-edged and determined reporter and Mr. Fincher highlights the obsessive nature of investigative journalism. This makes The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo something of a spiritual successor to Zodiac, Mr. Fincher’s 2007 film about reporters and police who sought the identity of the infamous Zodiac Killer for years.

No less obsessive is Lisbeth Salander (Rooney Mara), a computer hacker hired first by Henrik Vanger to do a background check on Blomkvist, then by Blomkvist to assist in his investigation for Henrik. Salander is an enigmatic figure; there is reference to a history of violence in her childhood and she proves herself more than capable of violence in the present but mostly her anger simmers under a stolid and beautiful face of Ms. Mara.

Because of her past, Salander is a ward of the state and must answer to a legal guardian in charge of her finances. The latest of these guardians is a despicable man (Yorick Van Wageningen) whose readiness to abuse his influence over her reveals unspeakable levels of depravity. (Some spoilers from here to the end of the paragraph.) The rape scenes are difficult to watch and Mr. Fincher does little to make them more palatable. He is careful though not to push the material into gratuitous exploitation, which is admirable since the story uses these scenes less to confront the seriousness of rape than to set the decidedly dark tone of Steig Larsson’s wicked world.

Even when the images onscreen are tough to watch, The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo is gorgeous to look at. Over his past few films, Mr. Fincher has perfected an impressive visual style and technical mastery. Shooting digitally allows him unparalleled control over every shot. Notice how his use of color saturation can cast a gloom over even the sunniest day or how striking and clear a scene taking place in near total darkness looks.

Mr. Fincher has a close team of people he works with, which results in an exceptionally focused film. New additions to that team are Mr. Reznor and Mr. Ross whose score for Mr. Fincher’s previous effort, The Social Network, won them an Oscar last year. Their music is versatile to Mr. Fincher’s needs; chugging guitars and synthesizers drive the action forward while Blomkvist and Salander investigate the case, and ambient noise ratchets up the tension in ways a traditional musical score could not have.

I have a few minor grievances regarding some of Mr. Fincher’s stylistic choices but I appreciate that he is a director willing to take risks. (In particular, the ironic use of a pop song in one of the film’s climactic scenes feels out of step with the rest of the film’s style.) I also take issue with the development of Blomkvist and Salander’s relationship but perhaps this is a point more for Mr. Larsson than Mr. Fincher.

These gripes are little more than nitpicking, however, and The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo is an exceptional modern film noir that arguably bests the previous (and very good) Swedish adaptation. The Sweden of Stieg Larsson’s story is not a terribly enticing vacation spot but for two-and-a-half hours David Fincher makes it a pretty thrilling place to be.

- Steve Avigliano, 12/29/11

REVIEW: Young Adult

Young Adult (2011): Dir. Jason Reitman. Written by: Diablo Cody. Starring: Charlize Theron, Patton Oswalt, Patrick Wilson and Elizabeth Reaser. Rated R (Language and sexual dialogue). Running time: 94 min.

2 stars (out of four)

Mavis Gary (Charlize Theron) is a thirty-seven-year-old divorcee and ghostwriter for what she refers to as a “disturbingly popular” book series for tween girls. Her name appears not on the book jackets but in fine print on the inside title page everyone skips over. When a young bookstore employee declines her offer to sign a few of the store’s copies, she spitefully tries to autograph one anyway. She is desperate for some love and affection or at least some attention.

The books she writes are garbage but she doesn’t show much ambition to become a great literary author. For all her too-cool-for-that dismissal of the series, she even seems to take pride in them. She eavesdrops on teenagers’ conversations and works the overheard snippets into her writing.

Still, modest success is not enough for Mavis. She sloths around her apartment with her pet Pomeranian, which she mostly ignores, fueling herself with an endless supply of Diet Coke to get her through another empty day. She harbors depressive alcoholic tendencies for a number of vague reasons, one of which is her divorce but that seems to be pretty far in the past. Much more recent is the news that her high school sweetheart, Buddy Slade (Patrick Wilson), has fathered a child with his wife (Elizabeth Reaser). This prompts Mavis to trek back to her hometown – a small Minnesota fishing town called Mercury – in the ignoble pursuit of breaking up Buddy’s marriage and reclaiming their now decades-old romance.

There she runs into Matt (Patton Oswalt), an old classmate who she fondly recalls by the nickname, “Hate Crime Kid.” A few jocks in high school, mistakenly believing Matt to be gay, jumped him in the woods and left him for dead, crippling him for life. Twenty years later, Matt is a social recluse. He works at a local bar but spends most of his time at home where he lives with his sister and paints action figures. He and Mavis strike up a friendship, mostly by wallowing in each other’s misery and getting blasted off whiskey from Matt’s home distillery. Mavis stays focused on the task at hand though, fearlessly hurtling down a path that cannot end well for her.

Young Adult reteams screenwriter Diablo Cody with director Jason Reitman, whose previous collaboration was 2007’s Juno. Striking a different note here, Mrs. Cody and Mr. Reitman seem to want Mavis to be at the center of a dark comedy but the script can never pull off the delicate tonal balance. The jokes are too on point, Mavis’s grand moment of self-destruction to carefully calculated, Mrs. Cody’s ostensibly poignant insights into her characters too self-satisfied.

Mavis feels too much like the creation of a screenwriter. She is the embodiment of a self-absorbed, snarky attitude but not really a person. We never get a proper sense of what brought her to her current depressed state or what keeps her in it. There is her divorce, I suppose, and the heartbreak of Buddy Slade but are we really meant to believe her emotional turmoil is the result of man troubles now years behind her? In the right writer’s hands, a mean, vengeful character can be a lot of fun. A petulant, whiny character, however, is another story.

Ms. Theron admirably portrays Mavis’s passive aggressive, self-deluding personality with subtlety even when the script is far from subtle. The same is true for Mr. Oswalt who has a genial presence in an underdeveloped role. Side players such as Patrick Wilson’s grown-up high school heartthrob are little more than objects adjusted to satisfy story requirements; Mr. Wilson’s role in particular feels like a pale imitation of his character from Little Children, a vastly superior film about suburban anxiety and unfaithful husbands.

Mr. Reitman, whose previous film, Up in the Air, had such a deft touch in depicting its characters’ social and emotional lives, does little to save Mrs. Cody’s weak script. The story meanders along without offering many notable details and fades quickly from the memory. Mavis is so self-absorbed she believes that what happened in high school is still important twenty years later. I, on the other hand, have a feeling I won’t remember her problems even a month from now.

- Steve Avigliano, 12/22/11

REVIEW: New Year's Eve

New Year's Eve (2011): Dir. Garry Marshall. Written by: Katherine Fugate. Starring: Halle Berry, Jessica Biel, Jon Bon Jovi, Abigail Breslin, Chris "Ludacris" Bridges, Robert De Niro, Josh Duhamel, Zac Efron, Héctor Elizondo, Katherine Heigl, Ashton Kutcher, Seth Myers, Lea Michele, Sarah Jessica Parker, Michelle Pfeiffer, Til Schweiger, Hilary Swank and Sofía Vergara. Rated PG-13 (Some language and sexual remarks). Running time: 118 minutes.

1 star (out of four)

New Year’s Eve is like a commercial without a product to sell. Which is a shame, really, because it feels like a good opportunity for Ashton Kutcher to pose with his Nikon.

The movie follows more than a dozen different characters in New York City as they send off 2011 with no shortage of style or heartfelt monologues, mostly congregating in or around Times Square for the ball drop at midnight. The huge ensemble cast is a gimmick though, a stunt I will concede is impressive as an exercise in unabashed excess. “How will all these people ever fit in one movie?” we ask.

The simple answer is that they don’t, or at least director Garry Marshall and screenwriter Katherine Fugate are incapable of doing anything more with these actors than throwing them together in a jumbled, disorderly mess. The film cuts between its storylines with little narrative rhyme or reason; its scenes appear to have been ordered arbitrarily. The movie may as well have been edited by an iPod shuffle.

Mathematically speaking, cramming all these people into a single two-hour film means nobody gets much more than fifteen minutes of screen time apiece. (Feel free to check my math on that one.) A number of the minor characters receive considerably less. So as an actor strapped for time, you better spit out that expository dialogue quick before your scene gets cut short.

For expediency’s sake, it helps too if the storylines eschew originality and just borrow vague ideas and setups from romantic comedies past. Katherine Heigl is in Desperate Damsel mode (a cakewalk for her by now) as the head chef in possibly the least busy restaurant kitchen in movie history. Where else but in the Heiglverse does a professional caterer on New Year’s Eve have the time to throw a temper tantrum (and eggs) with her sous chef Sofía Vergara in between idle chats with a former lover played by none other than Jon Bon Jovi?

Zac Efron, meanwhile, helps Michelle Pfeiffer check off everything on her resolution list with a charm that might have made a young John Cusack (unfortunately not present) jealous. The handsome Josh Duhamel seeks to reconnect with a woman he met last New Year’s and agreed to meet again tonight at the same café. A typically frantic Sarah Jessica Parker struggles to keep her daughter Abigail Breslin from leaving the nest too soon. And Ashton Kutcher, a certified New Year’s cynic, gets trapped in an elevator with Glee star Lea Michele, who, fear not, is given ample opportunities to sing.

Robert De Niro appears as a man on life support, a bit of casting that feels like a cruel joke, and Halle Berry plays his nurse, refusing to allow his dying request to watch the ball drop from the hospital roof. In another strange pairing of actors, Hilary Swank grapples with her new position overseeing the Times Square festivities while her security officer, a comatose Chris “Ludacris” Bridges, stands around and provides occasional comfort. (Between this and his equally out-of-place appearance in No Strings Attached earlier this year, Bridges’s New Year’s resolution should be to find a new agent.) In a late-film appearance as a electrician, Héctor Elizondo nearly redeems the whole bloated affair but a prime opportunity for slapstick (he gets stuck briefly atop the ball) is left oddly untouched.

In perhaps the film’s most improbable storyline, an expecting young couple, Jessica Biel and Seth Myers, race to win a hospital’s $25,000 prize for birthing the first child of the New Year. These scenes have potential for screwball comedy but Myers, who has the acting chops of Jerry Seinfeld, and Biel don’t have a clue what to do with the material. As an eastern European man also vying for the cash prize, Til Schweiger gets a few laughs but the comedy is otherwise dead in the water.

All of these characters crowd the screen in competition for our affection but none are even half developed enough to elicit anything in the way of audience sympathy. The characters are so dull and lifeless I found myself wishing Ryan Seacrest’s cameo had been expanded into a full storyline. He at least understands how to make drivel pass as entertainment, having essentially made a whole career out of it.

The most revealing moment in the movie is in the end credits during the requisite blooper reel of line flubs and cast pranks. We see Jessica Biel in labor as her doctor (Carla Gugino) pulls out not a baby but a copy of Valentine’s Day (the similarly structured previous feature from Mr. Marshall) on Blu-Ray from Biel’s vagina. It’s a sort of perverse, self-congratulatory joke that makes me think Mr. Marshall has nothing but a cynical, bottom line attitude towards the whole production. The inevitable profit from this film’s box office and subsequent DVD release will no doubt sustain him until he pops out another holiday-themed piece of junk next year. So New Year’s Eve really is a commercial after all. And it doesn’t even have the decency to try and sell us anything.

- Steve Avigliano, 12/12/11

REVIEW: The Descendants

The Descendants (2011): Dir. Alexander Payne. Written by Alexander Payne and Nat Faxon & Jim Rash. Based on the novel by: Kaui Hart Hemmings. Starring: George Clooney, Shailene Woodley, Amara Miller, Nick Krause, Robert Forster, Judy Greer, Beau Bridges. Rated R (Language). Running time: 110 minutes.

3 ½ stars (out of four)

Hawaiians, we learn from George Clooney’s opening voice-over, do not live in paradise. They are as susceptible to life’s woes as any mainlander; the backdrop for those woes is just prettier on the islands. The beautiful vistas certainly do little to assuage the problems facing Matt King (Clooney) in The Descendants and director Alexander Payne is adept at evoking the irony of the emotional anguish of people in comfortable clothes.

After a speedboat accident leaves his wife in a coma, Matt King is left to parent his two daughters, the ten-year-old handful Scottie (Amara Miller) and seventeen-year-old troublemaker Alex (Shailene Woodley). Matt has little idea what to feed the two girls let alone guide them through such a difficult time. Scottie is at the impressionable age when passing phases are difficult to distinguish from issues that may one day require therapy and Matt looks desperately to his eldest daughter for help. She is no more stable but claims she will be considerably calmer with close friend Sid (Nick Krause) around. Sid is a surfer dude dunce whose one-note – “Sup, bro?” – personality proves inappropriate more than once as he accompanies the family on hospital visits and a trip to the home of Matt’s father-in-law (Robert Forster).

On the other side of Matt’s family is a host of cousins and extended family members who are on the verge of making a major decision. The Kings, descendants of Hawaiian royalty, own one of the last undeveloped patches of land on the islands and are looking to sell the property before the trust dissolves in seven years. The family has whittled the prospective buyers (mostly developers interested in constructing hotels and shopping centers) down to one, Don Hollitzer (unseen in the film) but as the deed’s trustee, Matt ultimately gets final say. The decision weighs heavily on him as his cousins, led by Hugh (Beau Bridges), pester him for an answer.

All of this would be enough for Matt to grapple with but the film throws one more problem his way. His wife was cheating on him, he learns, a revelation that spurs an inter-island investigation into her suitor’s identity that takes up most of the film’s midsection.

Mr. Payne seems attracted to stories of men reaching a turning point in their lives (Paul Giamatti in Sideways, Jack Nicholson in About Schmidt and, to a lesser degree, Matthew Broderick in Election) and paints an empathetic portrait of Matt at this particular mid-life moment. Clooney is a wise choice for the role; he finds the vulnerability of Matt while still bringing to the character the charm that comes with being George Clooney. His ability to lead an audience through the array of emotional turns a film like The Descendants takes is one of his strongest assets as an actor. He shifts between moments of human comedy and more somber scenes with ease, building an authentic character along the way.

Those who have seen Mr. Payne’s previous works will be familiar with the way humor, tragedy and righteous anger mix and blur into one another here. This particular blend works because the film has a keen understanding of human interaction – the way we fumble over verb tense when talking about a deceased or dying person, or what personal information we choose to give out to our various levels of acquaintances. Even as the plot progresses in carefully controlled and even predictable ways, the details of the script (penned by Nat Faxon and Jim Rash, as well as Mr. Payne) and nuances of the performances ring true.

There are also a number of gorgeously framed shots – and not just of those scenic shorelines which are, of course, captured in all their splendor – that bring to life the emotional world of these characters. Everything comes together in the final scenes, a series of pitch-perfect moments between family that brings the film to a touching and poignant finish. If the film perhaps grazes over serious subject matters with a decidedly light touch, it also does not cheat. Matt’s complicated situation is acknowledged as such and the characters, in the somewhat limited sketches of their personalities, act honestly and believably. The film does not strike a false or cheap note.

The Descendants is a crowd-pleaser in the best of ways. It presents us with a collection of likable characters whose troubles are given humor without sacrificing honesty. Hawaii may not be paradise but is as gorgeous and charming a place as any to sort out your problems.

- Steve Avigliano, 12/7/11

REVIEW: Hugo

Hugo (2011): Dir. Martin Scorsese. Written by: John Logan. Based on The Invention of Hugo Cabret by Brian Selznick. Starring: Asa Butterfield, Ben Kingsley, Sacha Baron Cohen, Chloë Grace Moretz, Ray Winstone, Jude Law, Emily Mortimer, Christopher Lee, Richard Griffiths and Frances de la Tour. Rated PG. Running time: 127 minutes.

3 stars (out of four)

Director Martin Scorsese’s first foray into 3D, Hugo, appears on first glance to be a Spielbergian piece of family entertainment about an orphaned boy’s adventures in a 1930s Paris train station. The film, adapted from Brain Selznick’s award-winning book, The Invention of Hugo Cabret, is curiously both more than that first impression suggests and somehow a little less.

We first see Hugo Cabret (Asa Butterfield) as he peers out at the station’s busy lobby from behind the face of a large clock. Through flashbacks we learn he is the son of a watchmaker (Jude Law in a brief cameo) who taught his son all about the inner workings of timepieces. Prior to his father’s death, the two were repairing an automaton, a small robotic man of extraordinarily intricate design Hugo’s father picked up at a museum. The machine is missing a crucial piece – a heart-shaped key – that Hugo’s father has drawn for reference in a small notebook Hugo later inherits.

Hugo then comes under the dubious care of his uncle (Ray Winstone in an even briefer cameo), a drunk who repairs the train station’s clocks and disappears almost as soon as he adopts the poor boy. This leaves Hugo to roam the station alone, dodging the watchful eyes of Inspector Gustav (Sacha Baron Cohen), who has made it his purpose in life to catch stray orphans in the station and ship them off to some nondescript Dickensian nightmare or another.

Inspector Gustav is unaware, however, of the many ventilator ducts and behind-the-wall passageways Hugo calls home. From these hidden vantage points, Hugo safely observes the station’s population below him. (Richard Griffiths, Christopher Lee, Emily Mortimer and Frances de la Tour each have a few scenes apiece as various proprietors in the station.) But it is Ben Kingsley as the owner of a toy shop who Hugo is most interested in and vice versa.

Hugo has been stealing toys from the shop not to play with but to disassemble for parts. When Papa Georgie, as his goddaughter Isabelle (Chloë Grace Moretz) calls him, catches Hugo red-handed, a mysterious and pensive look crosses the old man’s face at the sight of Hugo’s notebook. Does this look signify some mystery for Hugo and new friend Isabelle to solve? Some past secret from Hugo’s or Papa George’s life? A hint at the cause of Hugo’s father’s untimely death?

The mystery, without giving away too much, turns out to be a lesson in film history, which, I must say, I wasn’t expecting. That is not to say the film loses any of its charm as Martin Scorsese pays tribute to the silent era of cinema – these scenes are as visually inventive and whimsical as anything else in the film – but I wonder: To what degree will the film’s younger audience appreciate this sudden turn? Hugo is a bit overlong, especially considering that it is being marketed as a family adventure, and by its second half its gradual pacing begins to feel like the film is dragging its heels.

This is no fault of Hugo’s young stars though, who carry the film nicely. Asa Butterfield is a strong and amiable lead and Chloë Grace Moretz shows her range as the plucky bookworm. The adults stand by to support them and Sacha Baron Cohen’s comic timing looks to have cross-generational appeal (to both older and younger audiences than his typically raunchy, scatological characters attract).

The film’s 3D gives a number of shots an added layer of wonder but Hugo’s most visually appealing qualities – its muted colors, its meticulous set design – do not need the effect; they are enchanting enough on their own. So while Martin Scorsese’s first use of 3D is well executed, I cannot say it was worth adding $5 to the ticket price. This continues to be 3D’s biggest drawback. I’m willing to remain open to each filmmaker’s take on the technology but not at these prices.

Mr. Scorsese looks to be on-board with it though. By evoking the dazzling imagination and visuals of cinema’s earliest works, he argues that the movies have always been about the spectacle of technological innovation. I wonder if the film might have been more effective had it gone even bigger – more magic! more mystery! – and if it had more of its director’s characteristic vigor and energy. In its quiet way though, the film ever so gently reminds us of the movies’ ability to inspire wonder and to invent.

- Steve Avigliano, 12/1/11

REVIEW: J. Edgar

J. Edgar (2011): Dir. Clint Eastwood. Written by: Dustin Lance Black. Starring: Leonardo DiCaprio, Armie Hammer, Naomi Watts and Judi Dench. Rated R (Language). Running time: 137 minutes.

2 ½ stars (out of four)

Leonardo DiCaprio assumes the titular role in J. Edgar, Clint Eastwood’s stately biopic about the former head of the FBI. The film consists mostly of routine biopic fare but also finds room for some deeply Freudian moments that flesh out some of the less factually certain details of J. Edgar Hoover’s personal life.

The film opens in the late 1960s as Hoover nears retirement and DiCaprio resembles Orson Welles’s Charles Foster Kane more than a little as he shuffles around Hoover’s Washington office buried under prosthetics. Hoover dictates his biography to a revolving series of interns and the film uses this framework to launch into flashbacks that detail the formation of the FBI and Hoover’s subsequent efforts to improve and perfect the Bureau.

In these flashbacks we are introduced to all the salient players in Hoover’s life: his personal assistant Helen Gandy (Naomi Watts), his mother (Judi Dench) and FBI Assistant Director Clyde Tolson (Armie Hammer). Meanwhile the film addresses still relevant issues of national security when they were in their formative years of debate and controversy. To what degree must the American people’s privacy be sacrificed in order to protect the country from its enemies? Hoover’s insistence on obtaining information at whatever cost can be viewed as a sort of early Patriot Act philosophy but Eastwood presents this from a historical, not allegorical, perspective.

Hoover also understood the importance of good PR and much time is spent on the media spectacle that was the Lindbergh baby kidnapping, one of the first opportunities for the then-young FBI to prove its worth to a captivated public. Eastwood also has some fun depicting the FBI’s tenuous relationship with Hollywood and the movies’ representation of gangsters and G-men. Many of these scenes engage in the self-conscious reminders that we are watching a historical drama that have become typical of a big-budget biopic. Some of these moments are playful (Hoover’s radical idea of creating a centralized database of so-called “finger imprints” is met with much reluctance) while others are tedious (when talking to Bobby Kennedy, Hoover has to clarify that he means the President when he says, “your brother”).

Though J. Edgar enters decidedly murkier territory in terms of historical accuracy when presenting Hoover’s personal life, the film finds its stride dramatically when it strays from the strict facts. Judi Dench smolders and snarls with maternal oppression as Anne Marie Hoover, whose relationship with her son (mostly depicted in scenes set in her bedroom) seems eerily intimate yet cold. Despite their closeness (Hoover continues to live with his mother long after most birds choose to leave the nest), she has little regard for her son’s emotions.

The same cannot be said of Clyde Tolson, whom Hoover takes on as his right-hand man early on and quickly forms a deep friendship with. Their relationship, which always seems on the verge of blossoming into something more but never quite does, provides J. Edgar with its emotional core; the pair’s scenes of understated flirtation are among the best in the film. Armie Hammer, whose face resembles that of a Ken doll – both rugged and smoothly plastic – had a star turn playing opposite himself as the Winklevoss twins in last year’s The Social Network and again reminds us how important a strong supporting performance can be. In his scenes with Hammer, DiCaprio loosens up and gives his portrayal of Hoover some much needed warmth and humanity. Underneath the hard-edged FBI director, DiCaprio finds an emotionally complex man.

Unfortunately the film never convincingly pulls these two halves of Hoover – the professional and the personal – into a coherent whole. The script, written by Dustin Lance Black (who won an Oscar for his Milk screenplay) feels disjointed. The film does not fully connect the anguish of Hoover, the private citizen, to the ambition of Hoover, the public figure; there is no Rosebud to provide us the narrative key into his life story. Had the screenplay been better focused, these contradictions of character might have made a scintillating portrait, but though the film offers some fascinating anecdotes and plenty of austere reminders of Hoover’s historical legacy, the man himself remains an elusive figure.

- Steve Avigliano, 11/18/11

REVIEW: A Very Harold & Kumar 3D Christmas

A Very Harold & Kumar 3D Christmas (2011): Dir. Todd Strauss-Schulson. Written by: Jon Hurwitz and Hayden Schlossberg. Starring: John Cho, Kal Penn, Neil Patrick Harris, Thomas Lennon, Amir Blumenfield and Danny Trejo. Rated R (An endless night of debauchery including drugs, cursing, sex and tasteless humor). Running time: 89 minutes.

3 stars (out of four)

In A Very Harold & Kumar 3D Christmas, Santa smokes from a bong, a claymation penis leaps off the screen and an infant tries every party drug your D.A.R.E. instructor warned you about, mercifully not all in the same scene. These are hardly the funniest moments in the movie nor are they even the most ridiculous, which should say something about the spectrum of insanity on display here. AVH&K3DC is ruder, cruder and in general escalates the crazy compared to the previous two installments of the stoner buddy comedy franchise. To say that the film was made to seen in a specific state of mind goes without saying, but the film, in its giddy willingness to do anything and everything for a laugh, gives off an intoxicating effect all its own. Just watching the movie gives you a sort of contact high.

Of course, none of the film’s THC-induced antics would work were they not funny. And AVH&K3DC is very funny. Its breakneck pace is a major asset to its success because no gag runs the risk of overstaying its welcome. Didn’t think that perverse twist on a classic scene from A Christmas Story was all that funny? Maybe you thought that bit about nuns crossed the line? Not to worry. That was already two jokes ago and the movie is onto something new. And unlike a lot of comedies that offer equivalent jpm (jokes per minute), the hit-to-miss ratio here is high in favor of laughter.

The manic pacing and style of the movie works also because the plot is pushed so far into the realm of the absurd that there is no chance anything will be taken too seriously. Writers Jon Hurwitz and Hayden Schlossberg (who have written all three films) have wisely upped the stakes with each passing movie (from a late-night trip to White Castle to a brush-up with the government in Guantanamo Bay to this) and have successfully kept the franchise fresh rather than retreading familiar material.

What’s truly astonishing though is how our hazy heroes, Harold (John Cho) and Kumar (Kal Penn), remain grounded in reality even as the world around them careens out of control. There are some genuinely touching moments between the two (usually offset by a gross-out gag to avoid sentimentality) and the strength of their friendship lies at the heart of these films.

As is typical for a Harold & Kumar film, there is also a dash of social commentary, though this outing’s racial-political consciousness is far more muted than before. The movie pokes fun at racial stereotypes and the casual prejudices people harbor in modern-day America but these concerns do not pervade the film’s humor, which mostly prefers to indulge in the raunchy and juvenile. Of the film’s women I will not elaborate other than to say that they are merely marginalized rather than degraded; take that for what it’s worth. AVH&K3DC is smarter than your average male-dominated raunchfest but isn’t trying to reinvent the wheel; it’s still very much in love with its lowbrow self.

The use of 3D is a silly gimmick but in a way (and bear with me for a moment here) is kind of groundbreaking. The effect, often toted as an immersive technology is self-consciously acknowledged in both the dialogue and its actual execution. In one scene, for example, a traffic cone is hurled toward us only to crash against the camera and crack the lens. The movie calls attention to the artifice of 3D and then uses that as a tool to further its self-referential nature.

The Harold & Kumar franchise continues to reshape itself in new and unexpected ways and if there is a fourth film (Neil Patrick Harris, again playing a hilarious Bizarro version of himself, flat out announces in this film that there will be a fourth) there may need to be a more substantial story, but this episode should not disappoint fans of the previous two. It is a wild and reckless blur of a movie that defies my better judgment and admittedly made me a laugh a whole lot. It understands the importance of brevity, doesn’t try too hard and is a wholly satisfying, smoky affair.

- Steve Avigliano, 11/9/11

REVIEW: Tower Heist

Tower Heist (2011): Dir. Brett Ratner. Written by: Ted Griffin and Jeff Nathanson. Starring: Ben Stiller, Eddie Murphy, Casey Affleck, Alan Alda, Matthew Broderick, Téa Leoni, Michael Peña, Gabourey Sidibe. Rated PG-13 (Language). Running time: 104 minutes.

½ star (out of four)

In Tower Heist, Ben Stiller plays Josh Kovacs, the manager of an upper crust New York apartment building called The Tower whose employees’ pensions are collateral damage in a Ponzi scheme that Josh invested in years earlier. The scheme’s mastermind is Wall Street billionaire Arthur Shaw (Alan Alda), a tenant of The Tower and personal mentor to Josh. Devastated by the betrayal and feeling responsible for the financial well being of his employees, Josh sets out to rob Shaw’s apartment and seek vengeance on behalf of the working class.

This would-be feel-good premise is fatally flawed by the film’s execution. Directed by Brett Ratner, who previously helmed the illustrious Rush Hour Trilogy, and written by Ted Griffin and Jeff Nathanson, Tower Heist features scene after scene of bad ideas that all look terribly expensive. The movie is clearly trying to cash in on current anti-Wall Street sentiments with a big budget action comedy and the result is as off-putting as it is unfunny. This is a multi-million dollar product being sold under the guise of blue-collar wish fulfillment, a hypocrisy produced by and starring one-percenters.

I say this not to fan the flames of cinematic class warfare but to reveal the absurdity of this bloated affair. How was it not obvious to Mr. Ratner that the mere price tag of an extraneous (and uninspired, I might add) car chase would undermine the moral of this supposed David and Goliath story? His approach would have seemed out of touch had it been even half as well executed as any of his Rush Hour movies. That the film is a lazy, unimaginative mess makes it something of an insult to its audience.

Even the stars of Tower Heist seem keenly aware of the turgid state of this production. Ben Stiller, who has written, directed and starred in a number of very funny movies, must have understood what a humorless disaster this script was. His performance lacks his normal energy and commitment to character; at times he looks almost regretful towards the whole thing. His costar Matthew Broderick, who plays a bankrupt ex-broker and assistant to the heist, is even worse. He looks so bored with the material you can almost see him planning out the rest of his day.

Then there is Eddie Murphy, who has a fairly minor role despite his prominence in the film’s marketing. He plays Slide, a small time thief who lives on Josh’s block. When time comes to get an expert to help with the heist, Josh naturally bails the only black guy he knows out of jail. Slide is a one-dimensional caricature and subject of several strangely dated race jokes. He wears a do-rag, describes how a homie of his was shot in the face and says the N-word exactly two and a half times for no comedically apparent reason. There is no hint of irony or self-aware political incorrectness about the character – just straight-up racist stereotype. Eddie Murphy’s appearance here depresses me more than any of the myriad of duds he has starred in over the last decade. If his performance gets any laughs, it is only because his fast-talking shtick is vaguely reminiscent of a once beloved comedian.

Tower Heist is a tired collection of genre clichés and half-baked ideas so insultingly bad that you want vent your anger out on the kid working the concession stand as you leave the theater. But don’t take it out on him. Tower Heist is not his fault. Believe it or not, as he stood idly selling $6 buckets of popcorn he may have even been more bored during the 104 minutes it took to watch Tower Heist than you were.

- Steve Avigliano, 11/9/11

REVIEW: Paranormal Activity 3

Paranormal Activity 3 (2011): Dir. Ariel Schulman and Henry Joost. Written by: Christopher B. Landon. Starring: Chloe Csengery, Jessica Tyler Brown, Christopher Nicholas Smith and Sprague Grayden. Rated R (Language and some bedroom foreplay). Running time: 84 minutes. 

2 stars (out of four)

Paranormal Activity 3 is a clumsy movie, an ungainly series of more or less detached scenes dutifully strung together into a something that only roughly resembles a narrative. The premise, warmed over from the last two installments, will be familiar to anyone who has seen one or both of those films: a spectral presence visits upper-middle-class suburbia and its phantom interactions with creaky doors and kitchenware are recorded with admirable thoroughness by a man with a camera fetish.

The footage of these paranormal shenanigans has been found and conveniently edited for us into a manageable 80-odd minutes though who found and edited the material is a mystery the film is not interested in solving. The opening scene reveals that the videotapes we are watching were stolen from the family in Paranormal Activity 2’s house so perhaps the phantom itself has gone through the trouble of editing the film! Or perhaps I’m asking too many questions.

The year is 1988 and the house haunted is that of Katie (Chloe Csengery) and Kristi (Jessica Tyler Brown), younger versions of the hapless heroines from Paranormal Activity 1 and 2, respectively. You will recall that the events of those films were not Katie and Kristi’s first interactions with the ghostly creature. The demon had previously plagued their childhood and the details of that initial encounter are the focus of this film.

The man with the camera this time is Dennis (Christopher Nicholas Smith), the boyfriend of the girls’ mother (Sprague Grayden). When young Kristi’s nighttime chats with an imaginary friend named Toby coincide with some unusual occurrences in the house, Dennis decides to set up a few tripods and use his totally neat VHS camcorder to get to the bottom of things.

What follows is a standard collection of “Boo!” moments, two of which are fake-outs so uninspired they actually consist of characters jumping in front of the camera and shouting “Boo!” These moments are effective, I suppose, but offer little that can’t be replicated by a visit to a haunted house. Clearly the filmmakers want to develop the mythology of the series (thus the prequel for this outing) but if this is the case there needs to be more intrigue and less cheap scares.

I don’t mean to say that an elaborate plot is necessary or even wanted for this sort of film. There is nothing inherently wrong with spooking audiences just for the fun of it. But there is a fine line between tension and tedium and too often PA3 confuses the two. For lengthy stretches of the film, nothing happens. Yes, this means you may be caught off guard when a scare comes but the effect is a little like lulling someone to sleep only to shake them violently when their eyelids shut. There is no craft or skill involved.

I will say that the last fifteen minutes are not awful. There is a decently choreographed and minimally annoying use of first-person shaky-cam (carefully edited to look like one long take) but the sequence stands alone. It is one scene of momentarily effective filmmaking, solid technique stranded without a narrative.

If you enjoyed the second film there is no overwhelming reason to skip this one. In a number of subtle ways, PA3 is more inventive than its predecessor but it is also less satisfying. The film is a mostly joyless execution of sudden movements and loud bangs, and ends abruptly without really going anywhere.

There is one other part of the film I want to mention, something that has become an odd trend in all the Paranormal Activity movies. There are scenes in this film when we watch Dennis watching the footage from the previous night. For what purpose would he film himself at such a moment? When would he ever need to go back and watch this? It doesn’t make much sense in the context of the film and isn’t any fun to watch. Part of me is tempted to interpret these scenes as some sort of odd, misplaced postmodern comment on a culture of pervasive recording and watching. Mostly though, I suspect it is simply misguided filmmaking.

- Steve Avigliano, 10/29/11

REVIEW: The Ides of March

The Ides of March (2011): Dir. George Clooney. Written by: George Clooney, Grant Heslov and Beau Willimon. Based on the play, Farragut North by Beau Willimon. Starring: Ryan Gosling, George Clooney, Philip Seymour Hoffman, Paul Giamatti, Marisa Tomei, Jeffrey Wright and Evan Rachel Wood. Rated R (language and some sexuality). Running time: 101 minutes.

3 stars (out of four)

In the months building up to a presidential election, the 24-hour news machine can feel so much like entertainment – politicians debate on live TV and commentators subsequently debate the candidates’ worth with sensationalized talking points and colorful graphics – that a film about the primary election process may almost feel redundant. Released in time to coincide with the growing media hullabaloo that marks the start of the 2012 presidential race, The Ides of March, a soapy political thriller directed by George Clooney, is less interested in the candidates of its fictional political world and the issues they discuss than the web of campaign managers and advisors who pull the strings behind the scenes.

At the center of that web for Democratic Pennsylvania Governor Mike Morris (George Clooney) is a talented young campaign manager named Stephen Myers (Ryan Gosling) and Paul Zara (Philip Seymour Hoffman), a campaign veteran and Myers’s boss. These two are responsible for getting the aforementioned media machine to work in Morris’s favor – that is to say, their favor – and ensuring a victory at the polls. Assisting them is a team of hard-working interns, including Molly Stearns (Evan Rachel Wood), daughter of DNC chairman Jack Stearns (Gregory Itzin).

The film focuses on a coveted primacy race in Ohio where Morris holds a tentative lead over Arkansas Senator Ted Pullman (Michael Mantell). An endorsement from one Senator Thompson (Jeffrey Wright), a powerful figure in the Democratic Party, would all but seal the nomination for Morris. That is, unless Pullman secures Thompson’s support first.

Posing a threat to the Governor and his team is Pullman’s campaign manager, Tom Duffy (a wonderfully gruff Paul Giamatti), who has his eyes on Myers. He wants Myers to jump ship on Morris’s campaign and work for him, but Myers is an idealist. He believes in Morris. This idealism prompts the derision of Ida Horowicz (Marisa Tomei), a New York Times writer who pries Myers and Zara for leads about their campaign strategies. She reminds Myers that Morris is a politician like any other and dismisses his faith in Morris as little more than starry-eyed naiveté.

Clooney’s Morris is a bit of an idealized figure. A staunch liberal, Morris proclaims that he is not a religious man but believes in the people’s right to practice any and all faiths. He calls for an end to America’s addiction to foreign oil, for industry-minded emphasis on burgeoning technologies, and for a revised economic system that ensures Americans pay their “fair share” of taxes. He is a frank, good-humored, sane and reasonable man. He is, in other words, an utterly unelectable figure in anything resembling the real world. Morris is a sort of Übermensch for Clooney, a romantic vision of his ideal politician. The improbability that such a politician could ever make it as far as Morris does in pursuit of the Presidency is not addressed in The Ides of March.

This unlikelihood is not so important to the film’s success, however, because Clooney’s ultimate message transcends political partisanship. His focus is not on the warring ideals that are currently causing our political system to sputter and stall but on the even dirtier infighting between career-minded advisors.

In its second half, The Ides of March flirts with soap opera levels of blackmailing and dirty laundry, which serves both to widen the film’s appeal to less politically-savvy audience members while also limiting the credibility of its arguments. Clooney need not go to such overdramatic lengths to illustrate how American politics are driven by personal ambition, though such sensational additions do make for an exciting movie.

As a director Clooney is sharp and confident and he stays focused on his cold perspective of the political game. The film’s visual style complements this; steely grays and blues are offset by the red and white stripes that necessarily pervade the background of a given shot.

The cast, it should go without saying, is exceptional. Philip Seymour Hoffman gives lessons on how to command the screen with characteristic effortlessness, and the ubiquitous Ryan Gosling continues to make a strong case for being the most reliable star of his age. (Your move, Leo.)

So although The Ides of March is a more than capable film, executed with skill and efficiency, it is also a difficult film to embrace. Clooney presents an unforgivingly cynical portrait of American politics but offers little in the way of hope for the future. If one wants to stay in the business of politics, ideals must be compromised (or thrown violently out the window as the case may be). Such news should hardly come as a revelation to anyone; what we need now are some suggestions on how to improve the state of things.

- Steve Avigliano, 10/10/11

REVIEW: 50/50

50/50 (2011): Dir. Jonathan Levine. Written by: Will Reiser. Starring: Joseph Gordon-Levitt, Seth Rogen, Anna Kendrick, Bryce Dallas Howard, Anjelica Huston, Phillip Baker Hall and Matt Frewer. Rated R (Medicinal drug use, language and sexuality). Running time: 100 minutes.

3 ½ stars (out of four)

50/50 takes typically melodramatic material and, with keen emotional insight and a collection of strong performances, avoids the cheap sentimentality that often comes with a film about cancer. Largely a comedy, the film takes time for some well-earned tear-jerking scenes in its last third. A product of Judd Apatow’s extended family (frequent Apatow collaborator Evan Goldberg produced the film along with Seth Rogen, who also co-stars), 50/50 explores the bonds of friendship (call it a bromance if you must), romantic love and family when put under the strain of a debilitating disease.

Adam (played by Joseph Gordon-Levitt) is a young Seattleite who works in public radio with his best bud Kyle (Rogen). Adam and his girlfriend Rachel (Bryce Dallas Howard) are entering the domestic stage of their relationship – she is flattered to learn he has made space for her clothes in one of his dresser drawers – though Kyle has some choice words regarding Rachel’s prudishness and Adam’s flagging sex life.

Still, life appears to be as good as it gets for a hip, well-dressed twentysomething such as Adam. That is, until he receives the unfortunate diagnosis from his doctor. He has a malignant tumor on his spine. The news creates serious ripples in his personal life and each of those closest to him react differently.

Kyle is perhaps even more distraught than Adam but, like a true friend, he is quick to provide distractions. Does Adam realize, for example, how easy picking up chicks will be when they hear he has cancer? Not to mention the medicinal marijuana. Rogen is in goofy best friend mode here (something he does exceedingly well) and his bumbling stoner cadence is just right to diffuse potential melodrama and lighten the mood for his pal.

The other members of Adam’s support circle are less reliable. Rachel may not be as prepared for the difficulties of chemotherapy as she claims and Adam’s overbearing mother (Anjelica Huston) only makes him more anxious with her persistent maternal worries.

Two older gentlemen Adam meets in chemotherapy, Alan (Phillip Baker Hall) and Mitch (Matt Frewer), offer a more understanding perspective. They know how painful the treatment can be and assuage Adam’s fears with jokes and homemade weed macaroons.

Adam also starts seeing a hospital therapist, Katherine (Anna Kendrick), a doctorate student still new to treating actual patients. She accurately identifies Adam’s reactions to the disease by pointing out the stages of shock and anger to him but her textbook approach is hardly comforting. Indeed, the two learn from one another and tiptoe around the patient/therapist relationship while laying the groundwork for a possible romance.

Kendrick, who received an Oscar nomination for her performance as a calculating but ultimately naive businesswoman in Up in the Air, plays a softer shade of that character here. She has a wonderful way of using the tics and fidgets of uncomfortable social interactions to flesh out a character. Underneath the cutesy-perky energy of her characters, she finds the tension between their emotional vulnerability and the sterile professionalism they have been told to exhibit.

As a lead, Joseph Gordon-Levitt skillfully navigates the film’s tonal shifts between comedy and drama. His shell-shocked response to the diagnosis works well as a comedic foil for Seth Rogen but Gordon-Levitt also has the chops to handle the heavier material. Adam’s silence is punctuated by outbursts of rage and fear late in the film as the gravity of his situation becomes clearer.

50/50 deftly examines the emotional turmoil of cancer treatment though it mostly does so through the familiar mechanisms of a romantic comedy structure. All of the pieces are in place – the best friend, the waning relationship and the new romantic prospect on the rise – but they are more effective here than in similar films because the emotions are authentic. Either 50/50 is a heartfelt drama that conforms to Hollywood conventions or a rom-com imbued with surprising genuineness. Whichever way you prefer to look at it, this is an entertaining and thoughtful film about the unexpected complications life throws our way and the strength of human connection in difficult times.

- Steve Avigliano, 10/2/11

REVIEW: Contagion

Contagion (2011): Dir. Steven Soderbergh. Written by: Scott Z. Burns. Starring: Marion Cotillard, Matt Damon, Laurence Fishburne, Jude Law, Gwyneth Paltrow, Kate Winslet. Rated PG-13 (Language and gruesome symptoms). Running time: 106 minutes.

3 stars (out of four)

During a quiet scene in Contagion, the new film from director Steven Soderbergh, I became acutely aware of every sound in the theater – every crinkle of a wrapper, every clearing of a throat – and realized the film was doing what it was intended to do.

Early on in Contagion there is a reference to Jaws that reveals the film’s aim. Similar to how that Spielberg classic played on our fear of the open ocean and made audiences think twice before the next time they went for a dip, Contagion takes a common fear – a worldwide virus outbreak – and crafts an effective thriller around it. We learn in the film that we touch our faces hundreds of times per day, (a point reinforced by frequent close-ups of hands), an unconscious habit that allows for the rapid spread of disease. With that information planted in our minds, each cough and sniffle in the film (deliberately foregrounded in the audio mix) become Contagion’s fin in the water – a sign of impending danger.

The film builds its queasy energy by assembling several storylines with characters that are connected by the mysterious disease. There is the American (Gwyneth Paltrow) whose business trip to Hong Kong may be responsible for the initial spread of the disease. Her husband (Matt Damon) and daughter (Anna Jacoby-Heron) provide the emotional arc of the film as they grapple with day-to-day life while the virus takes hold of the country.

On the bureaucratic end of things are Dr. Cheever (Laurence Fishburne) and his protégé Dr. Mears (Kate Winslet) of the Center for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) who investigate the disease in pursuit of a cure. Assisting in that goal are researchers Ian Sussman (Elliott Gould) and Dr. Hextall (Jennifer Ehle) as well as French correspondent Dr. Orantes (Marion Cotillard) whose investigation of the outbreak’s source in Hong Kong takes an unexpected turn.

Meanwhile, a vicious blogger named Alan Krumwiede (Jude Law) scrutinizes the CDC’s every move and makes allegations of a partnership between the government and pharmaceutical companies. He is a political revolutionary of the modern age whose shocking online posts bring new meaning to the phrase ‘viral videos.’

Krumwiede is one of the film’s many insistent (bordering on incessant) reminders that the film takes place in the present day. Information is obtained and spread through video surveillance, texting, Twitter and other technological advancements familiar to most Millennials. These contemporary details are pervasive to the point of being overwhelming, though perhaps that’s the point. Much of the film’s dialogue blows by in a flurry of acronyms and multisyllabic mouthfuls, a fair dramatization of information overload in the Internet Age.

Soderbergh handles this material well, though. His frenetic style makes sense of the chaos unfurling onscreen and pulls the film’s many characters together into a cogent whole. He balances tense scenes of frayed nerves and frantic phone calls with more sober moments of investigative reporting that plunge into the murky realm of geopolitics without getting didactic.

Emphasis on international affairs does lead to an inherent lack in human empathy. The film is more interested in presenting the inner workings (and subsequent failings) of government agencies than telling a story about individuals. Soderbergh explores the ways in which these agencies communicate with one another to find a balance between law and moral order when catastrophe strikes. Contagion is critical of the layers of red tape that prevent decisive action but never villainizes any of its characters.

On further reflection, the earlier comparison to Jaws is not a perfect one. In 1975, that film created – or at least propagated – a fear of shark attacks. The terror lurking behind every scene of Contagion, however, does not originate with the film but rather is one that has already attained a level of omnipresence in our lives. Whether the threat of a pandemic is just media noise or indeed the fate of mankind remains to be seen. Either way, Contagion thoroughly documents that fear for future generations and offers a chilling apocalyptic tale in the meantime.

- Steve Avigliano, 9/13/11

REVIEW: One Day

One Day (2011): Dir. Lone Scherfig. Written by David Nicholls, based on his novel. Starring Anne Hathaway, Jim Sturgess, Ken Stott, Patricia Clarkson and Rafe Spall. Rated PG-13 (Some sexuality and skinny dipping, but nothing too explicit). Running time: 108 minutes.

1 ½ stars (out of four)

One Day, a new Will They/Won’t They/Of Course They Will romance directed by Lone Scherfig and starring Anne Hathaway and Jim Sturgess, spans twenty years in the lives of its characters. Adapted by David Nicholls from his novel, the film begins on July 15, 1988, the day on which posh Brits Emma (Hathaway) and Dexter (Sturgess) are formally introduced following their college graduation. They nearly go to bed together but decide instead to just be good friends which makes One Day a sort of No Strings Attached or Friends With Benefits for audiences who prefer watching struggling artists to Ashton Kutcher.

The film checks back in with Emma and Dexter once a year on that same day – July 15 – and we follow their up-and-down, back-and-forth friendship that just might be the seed of a beautiful romance if they can ever get over themselves long enough to realize they are in a movie that demands they fall in love.

Emma is a shy, bookish girl who moves to London to become a poet and complains a year later that the city has “swallowed her up” when she is stuck waiting tables at a kitschy Tex-Mex restaurant. She both envies and resents (with equally strong levels of self-pity) the comparative success of her best friend and would-be lover, now a wealthy TV personality for a schlocky late night program. The film never adequately explains how Dexter gets such a cushy job, though he is quite charming in a sleazy way.

Jim Sturgess is just right for this type of character. His dashing looks (not to mention that accent, ladies!) give him a boy-next-door appeal that should be at odds with the character’s Casanova womanizing but somehow balance one another out in Sturgess’s sly smile. Anne Hathaway, a master of the shy, bookish girl (let’s not mention her accent, though!) is perfectly comfortable and oh-so-cute in her exasperated fits and dignified prudishness. The two are ideal romantic foils according to the opposites-always-attract logic of Movie Land.

Unfortunately, the script forces them to deliver a constant flow of exposition necessary to fill in the gaps between each July 15. Scene after scene the two young actors labor to spit out backstory in way that roughly resembles how people talk to one another. Occasionally, we learn that nothing interesting has happened since the previous year. At least once, a major plot point occurs during the in-between and is only casually alluded to despite its seemingly pivotal significance. Having such a crucial event happen off-screen would surely be the film’s biggest dramatic blunder were it not for the final twenty minutes, a contrived and predictable mess of an ending.

The problem is that One Day has nothing interesting to say about life and love; its observations about relationships are hackneyed and obvious. Time goes on, people change, life happens. And the film is just pretentious enough to believe these points can only be made through its tiresome structure. (It’s the same day – but different!) Last year’s Blue Valentine, an exceedingly better “love through the years” film, has similar things to say but understands how the nuances and complexities of human relationships shape our lives. By comparison, the characters in One Day are stiff, lifeless extensions of the plot.

Of course, Blue Valentine’s bitter take on love lost does not suit One Day’s sentimental aims. This is a hack job melodrama that places no trust in its audience to understand where emotional parts are. Strings doused in syrup accompany nearly every scene, overplaying the manufactured mush of the plot when it should be allowing its leads to actually, you know, fall in love.

As the film’s annual progression churns forward, helpful text pops up onscreen to announce what year we’re in, beginning in 1988 and only skipping a handful of years before arriving at July 15, 2011. (You remember, that long ago time of two months ago.) One Day also has an annoyingly persistent habit of depicting the 1990s and early twenty-first century with trite cultural markers. “I’ll never get a mobile phone,” Emma declares halfway through the film. A half dozen years later we see her with one of those hip Macbooks right around the time Dexter starts working for a trendy organic food company.

The worst of this occurs when, late in the film, Dexter reminds Emma that they once had feelings for each other. “That was in the late 80s!” she says to him, as if people actually perceive their lives in such rigid terms.

This moment is indicative of the film’s larger problems. One Day tries to build a tearjerker around its pseudo-wisdom about romance but misses the point of what a good weepie should be. We do not care whether or not Emma and Dexter get together, a death sentence for this type of movie. Instead of a love story we get two people talking at each other, explaining why they are or are not together. How romantic.

- Steve Avigliano, 8/29/11

REVIEW: 30 Minutes or Less

30 Minutes or Less (2011): Dir. Ruben Fleischer. Written by: Michael Diliberti. Story by: Michael Diliberti and Matthew Sullivan. Starring: Jesse Eisenberg, Danny McBride, Aziz Ansari, Nick Swardson, Michael Peña and Fred Ward. Rated R (Language, violence and nudity). Running time: 83 minutes.

2 stars (out of four)

In 30 Minutes or Less, a new comedy from director Ruben Fleischer, two would-be criminals strap a bomb to a stranger’s chest and force him to rob a bank under the threat of detonation, a premise that places the film in the company of a recent wave of action comedies that have been popular in the last few years.

In films such as Pineapple Express and this one (both of which feature actor Danny McBride) the best jokes stem from watching everyday incompetent shmoes realize that life is not like what they have been led to believe from their countless viewings of Lethal Weapon. This is amusing territory to be sure but when 30 Minutes or Less runs out of clever gags, it leans too heavily on its guns and explosives for laughs, a none-too-subtle way to cover for a lack of good material.

The victim of the aforementioned scheme is Nick (Jesse Eisenberg), a pizza delivery boy whose employer cruelly promises customers a free pizza if their order does not arrive in the titular time frame. Nick has a falling out with his childhood friend Chet (Aziz Ansari) over his interest in Chet’s sister Katie (Dilshad Valsaria), a plot device necessary to push the two apart before the forthcoming bomb situation draws them back together.

The architects of the deadly and poorly thought out plan are Dwayne (Danny McBride) and Travis (Nick Swardson) who want to off Dwayne’s father (Fred Ward), a ex-Marine hardass with a few million dollars in lottery winnings. Once his old man is out of the way, Dwayne can use his inheritance money to fund his dream business venture: a whorehouse that fronts as a tanning salon. First, however, the pair needs a hundred thousand bucks to hire a hit man (Michael Peña) who comes recommended by a stripper (Bianca Kajlich) Dwayne spills his guts to during a lap dance.

Eisenberg, fresh off his Oscar nod for The Social Network (there is a winking reference to Facebook in this film), reteams with his Zombieland director though he isn’t quite right for the role. There is too much of the nastiness from his take on Facebook mogul Mark Zuckerberg here and not enough of the neurosis from his Zombieland character. He is angry and spiteful when he should be bumbling and anxious.

The movie also features performances from a few comedic actors who are on the verge of becoming household names. The best of these is Aziz Ansari, a popular stand-up comic and TV actor who is about one good role away from becoming a star. There is something oddly likable about Ansari’s comedic persona; his hyper energy is fueled by the sort of faux-machismo that comes from watching too many action movies and rap videos (fitting that he should recently appear in a rap video). He poses as a tough guy but the act is quickly broken at the slightest sign of danger and he turns out to be as timid as any of us.

McBride and Swardson are more of a mixed bag. Their talents mainly lie in mining the lowest depths of privileged degenerates, which, I suppose, they are very good at though they are not always fun to watch. This is particularly the case when the script calls on them to deliver some pretty offensive one-liners. (The film is not shy about its sexist dismissal of its female characters and features a handful of racist comments directed towards Indians.) Coming from the mouths of such mean, unlikable characters, these lines are ugly rather than funny.

Entirely too much time is spent on this pair, especially in the opening scenes as the film needlessly depicts the two criminals devising their scheme. The movie might have taken a cue from the action movies it constantly references and launched right into the bomb and bank heist plot. Nick and Chet’s amateur robbery is great fun but gets limited to only a few scenes when it should form the basis of all the film’s jokes.

Ruben Fleischer’s Zombieland was a surprisingly smart and often very funny movie but here he places too much comedic faith in the wrong places. I appreciate the film’s economic running time but when a movie is this short there should be no wasted time, no extraneous scenes. Instead, 30 Minutes or Less squanders its 83 minutes as though as though unaware its main character could explode at any moment.

- Steve Avigliano, 8/14/11