The Hateful Eight (2015)

Score: 1.5 / 5

Quentin Tarantino's hyped-up newest (and, yes, eighth) film, The Hateful Eight, is conceptually and visually impressive, and it is also uncompromisingly ugly. Essentially Reservoir Dogs done in a fake-Western style, the film collects nine (yes, nine) horrible characters together in a cauldron that boils over into cruelty and violence during a beastly three-hour detention span. The unlikely and unlikeable characters spin webs of lies and slurs at each other from the get-go, and by the final act bloodbath, the only catharsis I felt came with the lights rising in the auditorium.

We begin with a stagecoach journey through Wyoming snow, shown in delicious 70mm film that only really works for shots like this. The remainder of the film takes place inside a cabin that, while improbably spacious like Hermione's handbag, does not need a 70mm presentation. It seems that Tarantino is trying to do a Hitchcockian Lifeboat, and he is ruining his own claustrophobic concept by expanding his vision. Even the wideshots of the coach outside are empty, full of sound and fury but signifying nothing, which makes me wonder why so many critics are applauding that camera choice. I might also add that the pretentious scope comes across as though the movie presents itself as a masterpiece. Which it most certainly is not.

One by one, the characters pile up. We have a full cast, from Kurt Russell (performing with a strange John Wayne swagger) to Samuel L. Jackson (being Samuel L. Jackson), and from Michael Madsen (doing his thing) to Tim Roth (playing an effete Brit, "the Hangman", a part probably intended for Christoph Waltz). Most curiously, we have Jennifer Jason Leigh as a treacherous outlaw, spending the entire film chained to her captor, face perpetually smeared in blood, and the constant recipient of brutal attack. I "understand" the violence against her in terms of the plot. I do. I do not, however, understand the repeated face-punches that Russell's character delivers to her. I also do not understand the laughter such violence elicited from the men in the audience around me. Sure, its shock value is undeniable, but laughter?

Now before you attempt to reenact "The Hangman" and (spoiler alert) lynch me like Jennifer Jason Leigh, let's get a few things straight. I am generally fine with Tarantino's penchant for movies featuring an underdog getting ultra-violent revenge; I may not clamor for more, but I can appreciate his style and his sentiments for what they are. But this film is not a revenge narrative. Not really. Rather, it's an excuse for a bunch of men to get together and toss around vicious slurs with no merit, little purpose, and bad payoffs. It's an excuse to paint the main woman in the film as a villain, chain her up, torment and torture her, and ultimately hang her, all while calling her a "bitch." In fact, I challenge you to time all the deaths in the film. Hers is the only one that takes longer to see, as the camera lingers pornographically on first her bloodied, prostrate frame and then on her wide eyes as she is slowly strangled from the rafters. Hers is the only death in the film that is not only witnessed by the camera, but celebrated. And if you think I'm being oversensitive, check out the only other two women in the film: Both are black, kind and hospitable and endearing, and both are coldly murdered after just a few minutes of screen time.

Still not convinced that this movie is ugly? Let's try the racial slurs that fly around like the snow outside. At least Django Unchained had historical and dramatic reasons for its incessant use of "nigger", and at least the leading black character in that story enacted revenge on the evil white slaveowners. I already knew Tarantino loved that word almost as much as blood, but I wasn't prepared for its tedious and provocative use here. I was also unprepared for Tarantino's lazy and crude flourish before intermission, when Jackson's character recalls, with perverted relish, capturing, raping, and murdering a white man who is revealed to be the son of another one of the so-called hateful eight/nine (being Bruce Dern's character, a former Confederate general). The story, whether true or untrue, serves its purpose in leading to the general's death.

But it's an oddly childish scene, with two stellar actors tossing insults at each other like snowballs. Jackson's lengthy monologue describing his prodigious penis is both stupid and unnerving to hear and to contemplate. Jackson's manic and watery eyes bulge and shimmer while Bruce Dern looks on in horror, and meanwhile I was yawning. It was, like the rape scene in Pulp Fiction, an obvious and lackluster attempt by Tarantino to make us wonder, "Wow, I can't believe we're going there," and applaud the director's use of taboo. But what it also does is perpetuate that very taboo. It creates a spectacle out of a tragedy, simply for audience reaction. It strips away any guise of historical accuracy or political commentary from that moment, and reveals the man behind the curtain: Tarantino, self-appointed knight in white, who sweeps in from a place of privilege to rescue the bitch and nigger and faggot from their weaknesses and then display them as trophies, whereby he may further declare himself a friend of the "underdog".

In fact, this film was so insensitive and ironic, that I'm questioning almost all of Tarantino's declared solidarity with oppressed people. Sure, some of his movies are revenge flicks of women, Jews, and American slaves; but I'm wondering what's really at work in them, if this new vision is a culmination of their disparate messages. For the first time in a Tarantino film, I don't see any moral framework whatsoever. I don't see any justification, causation, or even merit to the evils at work. Instead, I see a gleeful pit of vipers, slithering over each other as they bite, wallowing in the venom and the gore, and ultimately crying out not for compassion but for still more violence.

Ultimately, this film is little more than a dare. A cruel dare made by a man who feels impervious to criticism. He is daring us to hate this film. He is daring us to declare our hate, and then wallow in it while his hardcore fans will no doubt object to criticisms like mine with a simple, "Of course it's an ugly movie, just look at the title! Hateful!" As if, as long as the production team admits its ideological faults, it's okay to put trash onscreen. As if being offended by that trash makes us prudish. As if we should either get off on these images of gore and filth or challenge him and all he declares to be righteous. In fact, as I begin to glimpse that man behind the curtain, I suspect that his much-lauded style of lavish sensation is little more than just that. That his only goal in filmmaking is sensation. I suspect that his years of identifying with underdogs and minorities and outsiders is little more than a ploy to get acclaim and praise for the same trash he'd be making anyway.

I don't see Leigh, in this movie, as a strong female role in a man's movie, holding her own and fighting back; I see Tarantino holding a misogynist leash and pretending that the woman on the end is a trophy. I don't see Jackson here as an ironic counterpoint to our cultural discussion on racism; I see Tarantino in blackface using language that he has no business using. Tarantino is daring me to hate The Hateful Eight. I don't. But I don't have to like it.

P.S. There are elements of the film I do like. Channing Tatum in the wild west is one. Ennio Morricone's fabulous score is another. And frankly, some of Tarantino's dialogue is one. My issue with that last one comes in when we don't have, for example, Christoph Waltz and his icy, ironic eloquence to deliver it. It also comes in when Tarantino himself thinks his dialogue is the best ever when, actually, it's not. He should read some O'Neill if he wants to do another long day's journey like this.

IMDb: The Hateful Eight

Star Wars: The Force Awakens (2015)

Score: 3 / 5

**Fair warning: I don't care about spoilers for myself, so I won't worry about censoring my thoughts here. If you haven't seen the film, and get violent when someone else reveals plot points, stop reading now. You should also probably just avoid the Internet until you've seen the movie.**

The most obnoxiously advertised movie event of the year, the new Star Wars regime opened with great fanfare and packed auditoriums. If you had the pleasure (?) of seeing it opening weekend, you no doubt shared with the enthusiasm of the multitudes as I did, and cheered aloud at appropriate points. It's undoubtedly a fierce spectacle, dazzling in its precision and flair, encouraged by the sentiment and nostalgia brought to it by both filmmakers and audiences.

There isn't much I can say specifically in praise of the movie, because technically it's pretty darn fabulous. The effects are killer, the score is lovely, the production design is interesting, and the camerawork is fine. There are some sizable holes in plot and characterizations, but as a part of a planned trilogy, I can't really fault the film for that; we can certainly expect to know more with the next installment. That said, I always prefer films (as sequels, prequels, and trilogies too!) to be able to stand on their own. I'm not so sure this one does. There's almost no exposition and new ideas pop up without preparation or, sometimes, merit. For example, early in the film, villain Kylo Ren uses the Force to stop a blaster's fire in midair. When has that ever been a thing? And apparently a renewed Empire (the obtusely named "First Order") has taken charge, led yet again by a mysterious Sith, though we don't know anything about what happened after the fall of the Empire in Return of the Jedi. I guess time will tell. But in most of these respects, The Force Awakens is very reminiscent of A New Hope.

Of course, it's also reminiscent of A New Hope in ways that aren't so admirable. In fact, a few times I wondered if I wasn't just watching a remake of that iconic first film. I'm not saying that's a bad thing, but I felt thoroughly disappointed at least half a dozen times in this movie. I mean, where's the creativity? If I wanted to see a poor orphan on a desert planet looking for adventure, a masked magic man with a sinister artificial voice, a superweapon the size of a planet, or a mysterious alien whose short stature belies supernatural knowledge, I could have watched the originals.

And before you start saying, "Well, it's better than the prequels," think again. I've never had a serious problem with the prequels, and I've not heard many sound arguments against them, other than personal preference. Sure, Jar Jar Binks is the worst, but so were the Ewoks. Sure, Darth Maul dies in the first movie, but so did Alec Guinness. No, I think the real reason people like the prequels less is because the script and its themes are far more complex and aloof; in having to rapidly expand the galaxy and its denizens, the prequels have precious little of the raw humor and "realistic" sense that defined the originals. Which is fine in my books, but not so with everybody. But that humor and grounded awareness is what J. J. Abrams's new film has in abundance, thereby winning over so many original fans. For example, when one tough pilot is dropped before the intimidating figure of Kylo Ren (Adam Driver), he glances up and asks who speaks first. It's the little moments like this that present us with a believable sense of humor, one that sparkles with wit amidst operatic galactic warfare.

In any case, it's not this film's (lack of) creativity that's winning anybody over. For all their editing faults and effects-heavy spectacle, the prequels matched the originals in sheer imagination and creative output. The Force Awakens just looks like Abrams's scrapbook of images and sensations from the original movies, recycled in order to win over doubters. I might add that, as a fan of the original expanded universe, there were extensive plotlines established before, after, and during the films' plotlines, written in both novels and graphic novels. I love reading the books, so it's a little hard for me to swallow that virtually all of them are suddenly irrelevant. That's a barrier I'll have to overcome on my own, but it certainly made me bitter while watching this new movie. Of all the brilliant stories and characters in the expanded universe, to have the filmmakers here just pirate plot points and images from an old movie is pretty irritating. But I suppose that's just a matter of personal preference, not unlike the disdain some feel toward the prequels.

Maybe I'm harping on something that doesn't matter much. Maybe the new Empire (Disney?) is planning on making the second and third films (plus more, apparently? God, I hope it's not overkill) wildly novel and imaginative, so they had to make this one familiar. I guess we'll have to wait for episode eight. For now, it's a nice excursion, and one that promises even more boons in the coming years. And speaking of boons, let's praise the amazing cast ( and casting director) here for a moment. Yay, the movie isn't only full of white people! Yay, we have a badass female protagonist! Yay, Oscar Isaac is my favorite! But seriously, the cast is great and their work is great, especially the newbies. I'll happily follow any mainstream sci-fi adventure with a cast that can impress me this much this quickly. Focal point: My favorite scene in the film is when Rey (Daisy Ridley) and Finn (John Boyega) are attempting to fix the Falcon, and BB-8 is withholding the location of the Rebel base. It's a fast and charming verbal dance between the three, and one that had me giggling for minutes afterward. It's scenes like that that won me over. Let's hope Abrams has more of those up his sleeve.

Here's a list of other objections some have had with this new film. Some are far more problematic than others, but generally I felt most of these ideas while watching the picture. Check it out: http://www.deathandtaxesmag.com/274463/episode-vii-sucks/.

IMDb: The Force Awakens

In the Heart of the Sea (2015)

Score: 4 / 5

There were three movies I was most looking forward to this year. Jurassic World, The Revenant, and this one. The first exceeded my expectations, the second probably will. This one was a fine film, and it didn't really disappoint, so at least there's that.

I haven't read the book, but I knew most of the story. And, of course, Moby-Dick is one of my favorite books. But I think this movie is getting pretty mild reviews because viewers are expecting an epic like Moby-Dick. FUN FACT: This isn't an adaptation of Moby-Dick. So if you, like the multitude of critics out there, are expecting a sweeping odyssey for god and glory, for vengeance and vanity, you can skip this movie rather than bash it.

Ultimately, this is a pretty intimate film. Focused on the crew of the Essex and its doomed voyage in the desert-like mid-Pacific, this film concerns itself with practical matters and personal conflicts. Benjamin Walker (Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter), Chris Hemsworth, and Cillian Murphy play the captain and mates of the ship, ever at odds and determined to lead the crew to success. Of course, one poor decision leads to another, and eventually the crew find themselves adrift in small whaling boats on trackless seas, preyed upon by a whale with a vendetta. Madness and desperation follow, as the men roast under an equatorial sun and resort to cannibalism to survive. The performances are intense and focused, and their physical transformations are no small wonder. Of course, their accents are all over the board, and Hemsworth's is cringe-worthy at times, but it's not the worst sin imaginable.

Especially wonderful in the film are Ben Whishaw as Herman Melville and Brendan Gleeson as Thomas Nickerson, Melville's main source in crafting his masterpiece. I could have hardly asked for more this holiday season than seeing Whishaw and Gleeson sitting opposite each other, each tearing up as the story unfolds, each battling inner demons. And young wonder Tom Holland (The Impossible, Wolf Hall) holds his own amidst the grown men. Unfortunately, there is little time to dwell on any particular character, as the film is rather action/adventure oriented, and the script is so streamlined.

We move along at a quick clip, which is fine in encompassing a journey that takes at least a year (I lost count of the subtitles and voice-overs declaring that yet 3 more months had passed), but it certainly limits the impact of themes at work. Though the film certainly plays with themes from Moby-Dick, such as suggesting divine or demonic motivations behind the antagonist, the abilities of men in the face of nature, and the relativity of sanity, it never really delves deeply into any of them. I suppose that's alright, and it more effectively informs the character Melville's final moments of dialogue.

I could wax ad nauseam on the tonal curiosities (and, at least in my opinion, ambiguities) of the film, and my feelings about them, both positive and negative. But I won't here, because it will take me at least another viewing to understand how the film works as a whole. But I would like to talk a bit about Ron Howard. Though many of his films tend to be tonally, well, curious and inconsistent, there can be little doubt about his aesthetic approach to each film. Like a chameleon, he alters his visual style for each picture; always distinctive, always different. This film is no different, as it takes an almost handheld approach to the action on the high seas, shaking from point of interest to point of interest with great speed and gritty hyperrealism. Dipping below the waves and above, we are always reminded by the camera that we are in the heat of the action. Interspersed are a few wide shots that remind us how small these men are in the vast stretches of ocean. There are also no small amount of curious close-ups to details -- a quill in an inkwell, the wheel that pulls the anchor, the tip of a harpoon -- as well as super close-ups to faces. I'm not sure why Howard strung together so many  different kinds of shots in such specific ways, but my impression was simply that of hyperrealism and of drawing the audience in. Every shot is gritty and often even the lens is dirty or water-spotted. I expect this is simply to satisfy the 3-D crowd, but I found it effective in 2-D as well.

This isn't going to be a big award winner, but I expect it to at least get a nomination for production design, special effects, and maybe cinematography, make-up, and score. Maybe even adapted screenplay, but as I said, I haven't read the source material. It's certainly a worthwhile film to see in theaters, and sure to please everyone who likes action, adventure, drama, history, and cannibalism.

IMDb: In the Heart of the Sea

Krampus (2015)

Score: 4 / 5

If you know me at all, you probably know that Halloween is my favorite holiday. If you know me well, you probably know that my favorite Halloween movie is Trick 'r Treat, the 2007 festive anthology film directed by Michael Dougherty. Its brilliant script, flawless pacing, subversive themes, and dark humor make it a perfect celebration of the holiday as well as an effective horror flick. It's a spellbinding concoction that ties together traditional tropes with terrifying new ideas, all presented with a vicious glee and fierce understanding of the cult audience it aims for.

When I heard that Dougherty was making a Christmas movie -- and that it took its title from the Germanic character of legend -- I was ecstatic. I was thinking that he would make the same kind of film, just shifted to focus on Christmas.

That's not what he did.

Don't get me wrong. I thoroughly enjoyed the film. But in enjoying it, I had to take several factors into account. To begin with: It's a Christmas movie. That implies, by definition, a certain sentimentality, and often a distinctly campy flair. Just look at the remake, Black X-Mas (2006), which largely ignores the raw horror of the 1974 original and replaces it with a (no less terrifying) materialistic vision of the holiday, replete with stupid characters under hallucinatory holiday lights, decorations and treats turned into weapons, and a dazzling set design drenched in kitsch and blood. Krampus shares a similar flair, from its opening sequence of a department store holiday fight in slow motion, to an almost giddy sensation we feel as demonic toys devour the children on Christmas night. It's a full-fledged horror comedy, but the comedy is tempered by sentiment and the horror is tempered by a PG-13 rating.

Maybe I just don't understand some bizarre subtleties of the film, but it also just doesn't always make sense. It's as though Dougherty, in order to keep his PG-13 rating, was forced to tone down the sheer horror of the film, and so instead he just smashed the little bits of horror he had to spare into a relatively tight frame of time, to make the film more fast-paced and kinetic, and thereby more "exciting". If only he had been able to take his time and let the horror unfold on its own terms, the film might be able to stand on its own a bit better. As it is, it feels like a snowy fever dream wrapped up in a nice bow and placed under a tree. It's a little too nice for its own good.

And maybe I'm just a bit desensitized, or maybe I'm just hungry for another sacrilegious Christmas movie after so long, but I really think pushing the rating up to an R would have helped. At first I thought extending the running time would have helped, but a 90-something minute horror film is generally enough time to work some magic. But with an R, we could have had that little bit of violence that might make certain characters' deaths more believable, or at least less silly. We also could have had a bit more real child endangerment (which is, unless I'm mistaken, a central point to the Krampus myth anyway), which might sound callous, but when the characters end up simply swallowed whole by monsters, it's about as "terrifying" as seeing the Sarlaac eat Boba Fett. Which is to say, not.

There are some real gems in here, though. There's a sequence (my favorite in the picture) where Omi, the grandmother, relates a story from her youth, in which her family was tormented by Krampus for losing the spirit of Christmas before being dragged to hell. The sequence looks not unlike the Tale of Three Brothers from Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Part 1, being an animated scene with amber lighting and apparently 2-D shadow puppets. And between sequences of gingerbread men attacking the family, and dark elves peering at them from behind wicked-looking snowmen (that I'm pretty sure come straight from Calvin and Hobbes: Attack of the Deranged Mutant Killer Monster Snow Goons), I was never not utterly entertained. There's another moment when a character first sees the figure of Krampus, perched atop a snow-covered roof, which then gives chase by leaping across roofs as the girl runs, screaming, to her fate. Oh, and the design of Krampus is brilliant. Just spectacular. If only he had a more direct role in the film, and not his many minions. Alas.

I guess my final takeaway here is that it's the little things that matter. There are a lot of little homages here, from an attack with a nail gun (from the Evil Dead remake) to the dreamlike ending (A Nightmare on Elm Street), and from the sister's unpleasant family (Christmas Vacation) to Krampus's calling card (The Polar Express), the film is full of conversation for cinephiles. It'll take me a couple more viewings, I'm sure, to catch all the details. That's one area where Dougherty did not fail me here.

So, if you're going to see this one, try and go in expecting a comedy. That's mostly what it is, albeit a dark comedy, and one with some fantasy fun and a strong theme of family. Toni Collette and Adam Scott are a charming couple, and do a damn fine job as parents caught in chaos. And if you're expecting fun, the scare elements will be far more effective in adding some chills to your cold winter nights.

IMDb: Krampus

Victor Frankenstein (2015)

Score: 3.5 / 5

I don't know that I've ever seen a Gothic comedy before, but this might be one. Based on corruptions of the titular horror character, this film is a sort of Frankenstein's monster itself, a hodgepodge mishmash of themes and tropes that, stitched together with simple and silly thread, skip off to a dark ruined castle to live happily never after. It's horror and comedy, science fiction and period drama, whipped up together with a frenzied cinematic approach not unlike film adaptations of graphic novels (I would compare its style to, for example,2003's The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen, or even the 2009 Sherlock Holmes). It's got a strange sort of Grand Guignol flavor amidst its kinetic action and dramatic charm. And if that doesn't sound interesting to you, stop reading and go watch the holiday Hallmark specials.

I'm not saying the script is very good. It strikes a rather uncertain tonal chord, and wallows in the third act, when the Big Picture themes come to a rain-drenched, violent head. But the first half of the film is delightful, bouncing between the great talents of a surprising array of actors, including Charles Dance, Jessica Brown Findlay, and a deliciously wicked Andrew Scott as the religious police inspector hell-bent on stopping Frankenstein's sacrilegious experiments. But the real stars here are, well, the stars: James McAvoy and Daniel Radcliffe are miracle-workers here, reviving a flaccid script and generously supplying it with wit, charm, and no small amount of homoerotic undertones. If you had told me that Professor Xavier and Harry Potter would have mad chemistry, I would have laughed at you, but now I've seen the error of my ways.

The opening sequence is by far my favorite in the film. An aspiring romantic, nameless hunchback (Radcliffe) is slaving away in a London circus until the girl he loves (Findlay) falls during her aerial routine. He saves her with a doctor in the audience (McAvoy), who recognizes the hunchback's medical prowess and rescues him from the cruel circus. The sequence sets up the fevered pace of the film, its colorful and campy style, and the gritty nature of the violent material. Immediately after, the kindly doctor takes the hunchback to his home, names him Igor, and treats his physical plights by draining a cyst and fashioning a harness to right his posture. I found it hard to stop giggling between Radcliffe's frightened vulnerability, McAvoy's ferocity and speed (à la Rob Downey Jr.), the one-liners and action-genre camerawork, and the stylized animation that is meant to represent the medical diagrams through which these characters view their world.

Perhaps the reason I so liked the film is that, even when the script descends into sentiment and stupidity, the sheer spectacle of the performances and visual style remain intensely silly. That is to say, I could scarcely judge the stupid because I was so charmed by the silly. The film feels like it could be a mockery of the whole genre, a disturbed satire of the Frankenstein myth, or a sensational fever dream of artists who understand that spectacle, when handled intelligently, can supersede poor content.

IMDb: Victor Frankenstein

Secret in Their Eyes (2015)

Score: 4 / 5

I'm not really sure why this is the second film adaptation of Eduardo Sacheri's 2005 novel in five years, so I understand a lot of its criticism. And frankly, I think the Oscar-winning Argentine film is better in terms of cinematography and editing. I'll cite that film's "chase" scene in the soccer stadium as evidence, and there's little more that can be said about that.

However redundant it may feel, though, I really rather liked this American adaptation. The camerawork and pacing isn't as tight as it could be, though the film has a gritty realism that evokes late-90s/early-00s crime dramas, which I find interesting. Of course, unlike the Argentine film, this close-up heavy approach also gives the impression that the film is a subdued and meditative version of any number of serial police procedurals on television. I'm sure that people who regularly watch shows like Law & Order or SVU or any of the other masses of similar shows will find this movie to be dull, a bland and pale shadow of what it could be.

But for those of us who do not watch those programs, the film presents a grim portrait of four individuals who are inexorably bound to a single rape-murder case, and how their obsession with it changes, unites, and ultimately haunts their lives. The back-and-forth dual plotline dictated by the source material is fairly well handled, and the plot translates surprisingly well to the criminal justice system in urban America. We see a team of FBI investigators (Julia Roberts, Chiwetel Ejiofor, Dean Norris) and their DA overseer (Nicole Kidman) brought together during their heightened watch for terrorism when one of the investigator's daughters is found murdered in a dumpster. Fears of terrorism (the film takes place not long after 9/11) dictate the legal process, and soon after the wrong men are convicted for the crime. Thirteen years later, though their lives have drifted apart, the team is brought back together to continue their quest. One by one, the team compromises their duties to illegally find the man responsible and bring him to justice.

It doesn't have the Gothic sensibilities of, for example, Prisoners (2013) but the film plays its cards close to the chest and favors the performances of its stars. Ejiofor and Roberts are typically incredible, delivering pitch-perfect characters in moments of daring vulnerability and surprising autonomy. I mean, it's nice to see a cast of relatively diverse characters in the legal system determining for themselves the right path to justice in accordance with their own values. My favorite scene is when Kidman's character -- an otherwise straight-laced and stern business woman -- attempts to stop Ejiofor from illegally questioning the suspect. She notices the suspect's lingering sexual stare, and nonverbally decides to turn the tables on him, using her suddenly exploited sexuality to degrade him until he confesses. It's a daring move, and one that Kidman delivers with great boons. If you know what I mean.

As I say, it's not a great film. Sure, it's a little tame, a little predictable, and a little redundant. In fact, some of the moments on screen are exact replicas of their corresponding Argentine scenes, something that is obviously intentional but, in my opinion, misguided. But it's rarely a bad thing to throw some A-listers into a smart crime thriller together and let them play it out with their respective strengths. And you could hardly ask for a more wide-eyed, introspective cast for a film about secrets in people's eyes.

IMDb: Secret in Their Eyes

Spectre (2015)

Score: 4 / 5

Confession: I'd never seen a Bond film until last weekend. And all three of the ones I watched starred Daniel Craig. So if that makes you judge me, I'll understand.

My opinions? Casino Royale is brilliant, Quantum of Solace is not, and Skyfall is almost perfect. Am I sad Judi Dench's character is dead? Hell yes. Am I happy that Sam Mendes came back to direct Spectre? Hell yes.

But he couldn't improve on what he did in Skyfall. Don't get me wrong -- Spectre is damn good. In fact, I'd argue that the opening scene in Mexico City is one of the best single scenes I've seen yet this year. The longshot, the costumes, the stuntwork are all stunning. It's a dazzling and arresting way to start any film, and it feels perfect for our leading man's persona. Just when I thought it couldn't get any better, Craig jumps aboard a helicopter for a surprisingly well-edited fight in the sky above the crowded square. Following the spectacle is a delicious theme song delivered by Sam Smith to a beautifully stylized opening credit roll.

But not long after the opening scene, the film retreats into a formulaic pattern. It's still one of the better spy/action movies I've ever seen, but it's not as daring or resounding as its predecessor. Perhaps the reason for my lack of enthusiasm lies in the film's inflated sense of self-importance. Christoph Waltz plays Franz Oberhauser, the villain who is apparently the mastermind behind the events of the three previous films. It's almost as if the filmmakers thought this kind of contrived plot device would make the film more Important or Critical, which is silly at best. Lines like "the architect of all your pain" made me snort out loud, which I'm guessing was not intended by the filmmakers. And then, to make matters worse, they include a scene that goes beyond accepting Oberhauser as a shadowy crazy mastermind criminal by giving him a personal vendetta against Bond: After Bond was orphaned, Oberhauser's father became his guardian while Franz grew jealous and overreacted by killing his father, staging his own death, and changing his name before founding the huge terrorist organization Spectre.

That seems more like the basis of an opera, or maybe a comic book. Not an otherwise intelligent and sophisticated spy thriller. I'm sure it works for some audiences, but it just doesn't for me. It makes the whole film trite and banal, a simple cat-and-mouse on global scale, featuring Waltz in a role that ignores his talents and hinders his dramatic potential from being realized. I think I was just disappointed because the opening sequence was so sharp, and the opening credits so provocative with its images of an octopus over everything, and it all turned out to be a gimmick. I felt that I'd been had, and that the filmmakers -- desperate to one-up themselves -- had layered it on way too thick.

However, the film does feature more screen time for Ralph Fiennes as M and Ben Whishaw as Q, which is never a bad thing. It also finds a much more compelling villain in Andrew Scott as C, the head of the Joint Intelligence Service, who is struggling for power with M and pushing for global surveillance system "Nine Eyes". By the time Oberhauser admits to be behind the push for Nine Eyes, we are hardly surprised, and by the time C is revealed to be in league with him we are just waiting for the confrontation. But Scott himself is delicious in the role, and I would only have liked more screen time for him.

The camerawork is just as good as in Skyfall, as is cinematographer Hoyte van Hoytema's use of colors and striking visuals. We don't get a surprise appearance from Albert Finney or his ilk in this one, but we'll survive that. And I think some of the action sequences of this film might be the best in the series, because Hoytema and editor Lee Smith never let the action get lost in handheld frenzy or quickly edited snapshots. Everything is long and steady, and it makes viewing much easier and the action more effectively elegant. All in all, it's a fine film, a little given over to its own self-aggrandized importance but only rarely indulgent. I'd watch it any day over Quantum of Solace.

IMDb: Spectre

Mockingjay: Part Two (2015)

Score: 4.5 / 5

I find these films -- probably the only series about which I'll say such things -- to be far more enjoyable than the simple prose of the novels on which they are based. And while the two parts of Mockingjay may not be have the fastest pace or the most daring action sequences of most modern young adult dystopian fiction, I find them to be fiercely intelligent and resourceful in mining the source material and in delivering satisfying results to their audience. The split also allows more time for us to focus on the great character developments that happen during the otherwise high speed, plot-driven events of the story. So I'm not really sure why people keep complaining about that.

As for Part Two specifically, it's brilliant. Not as breakneck as Catching Fire, not as meditative as Mockingjay Part One, it allows the various elements of the series to simmer together in a harsh treatment of escalating warfare. Its topical relevance shines through perhaps best in the moment when the rebels bomb a mountain, effectively burying the enemy soldiers and civilians inside together. The following scene between the escaping survivors and the rebel army led by Katniss. It's hard and it's complicated and it's wonderful. There's also a few beautiful moments as Coin leads her people to victory, and Katniss watches and suspects that her aim is less noble than she had first imagined.

Nothing in this movie quite matches the fierce brilliance of the scene in Part One of Gale and the rebels sneaking into the Capitol to save Peeta while Donald Sutherland drones in voiceover. However, Part Two skillfully avoids overdoing the special effects and getting caught up in its own exciting energy. In fact, there is really only one particularly violent sequence in this film that I can recall. It's also probably the most violent scene in the series, and one that I had some trouble watching. It happens in the sewers, where our team of heroes is attacked by monstrous white lizard-men in a terrifying melee that had me covering my eyes. Mad props to director Francis Lawrence, because it's got to be one of the most stunning fight sequences I've seen in a film since The Return of the King. Not because it's particularly intelligent, but rather because it's so fast, surprising, and long; it's an extended sequence that has absolutely no moments of relief. Even when they climb up the ladder and escape the lizards, seemingly in peace to mourn the deaths of their friends, sharp metal drills start popping up from the exploding floor beneath them.

Perhaps part of the reason I so loved the sequence is because the film until then is pretty tame. It's not slow, exactly, but more meditative and emotional like in Part One. Even when Katniss and her team get into the Capitol and maneuver its booby-traps, it's not a particularly action-y movie. Which, by the way, is great. It makes the climax that much more effective.

And speaking of the climax, I'm not exactly sure where it was in this movie. Which is also great. Because, as the finale to the series, the whole damn thing is a bit of a climax. Rather like the eighth Harry Potter film, this picture more or less begins with the climax and ends up with an extended resolution. Actually, in a sense, it feels like The Return of the King, with several denouement scenes that let the story end with a nice little flourish. Maybe the epilogue scene was a bit much, but it's a sweet little nod to the book. I noticed several people in the theater squirming to leave after the "climax" (I say that's the execution scene, because Donald Sutherland's face and laughter is devastating), because it's hard for some people to stay seated when there's nothing "exciting" left. It's sad, but the film manages those squirmers gracefully.

What else can I say? J-Law is fantastic. I'm glad we saw more of Josh Hutcherson in this one. I'd have liked to see Elizabeth Banks and Woody Harrelson more, but the story isn't really about them any more. Julianne Moore is great and we can always use more of her, and the moments with Philip Seymour Hoffman gave me all of the feelings. The camerawork is strong, the editing stronger, and I have no big complaints. It's a fine film, and a fine ending to the series.

**
I should probably qualify my earlier claim that I prefer these movies to their source material. I like the books fine, and I'm not saying they're bad. The prose is simple, straightforward, and first person. These fit the concept Collins was going for, and I can't fault them, except to say that I don't like that style in prose. I'm also conflicted with the fact that the intense and violent story is clearly marketed for young people; sure, the protagonist is also that age, but ultimately The Hunger Games is an extended Lord of the Flies, and Mockingjay is nothing short of a war novel (I'm thinking of a Tim O'Brien novel or two). I'm just not sure parents and teachers should be letting middle schoolers loose on this kind of material without accompanying conversations and context.

That said, I also have a little bit of misgivings about the films being PG-13. Much like the books being marketed for kids (I assume this might be why they are not particularly descriptive), the films are being marketed for kids. The MPAA rating stops the films from going into really dynamic territory (the moment in Mockingjay when Katniss randomly shoots a Capitol woman before she can speak; the bloody murder of a random girl in the streets by a shower of bullets). Ultimately these films take on a hue of polished Hollywood young adult sci-fi fiction rather than a raw, brutal war film.

I don't really have a coherent opinion on this franchise, obviously. But these are my main considerations.

IMDb: Mockingjay: Part Two

Bridge of Spies (2015)

Score: 4.5 / 5

The most wonderful things about this movie are all of the things I was not expecting. Frankly, I was sort of dreading it because Spielberg is really hit-or-miss with me, and I also worried this would be another Tom Hanks vehicle like Captain Phillips (which, for reference, I intensely dislike). But from the outset, Bridge of Spies sets itself up as a solid and simple old-fashioned spy drama with heavy style. It's brilliant.

If you're looking for action and melodrama, you might want to pass this one up. Spielberg really subdued his usual bravado here, even more so than in his 2012 Lincoln talker, and manages to twist many expectations we might have about American war movies in the wake of American Sniper and its problematic ilk. Bridge of Spies is about paranoia, and Spielberg lets his film simmer in the dark for a long time until it boils over in the third act. It's totally by the book, but it supports the material and feels about as satisfying as a John le Carré thriller.

Tom Hanks is his usual charming self, complete with wit and vulnerability -- though perhaps too much vulnerability -- and carries the picture well. But the real gem here is Mark Rylance, portraying an alleged Soviet spy in America. He gives his role only a hint of emotion, and lets his soft-spoken, witty, ironic performance steal the whole movie right away. He delivers his lines with a wispy, singsong voice and makes manifest an incredibly complicated character: one who refuses to lie in a world, by definition, structured by deception. It's a brave move, and one that succeeds fabulously. I usually don't like it when I feel filmmakers tugging at my heartstrings, but by the ending of this film, Rylance deserved my little sob. I should also mention Mikhail Gorevoy, playing a Soviet ambassador, who thrilled and chilled me with his piercing eyes and conniving hiss. I quite hope to see him in more movies.

Clocking in at nearly two and a half hours, the film plays for the long haul. But it's never particularly slow. Hardly a scene passes without some new concept or insight into the trials, bureaucracy, politics, and legality we witness. In fact, I would argue it's an unusually streamlined film, in terms of plot, for a spy movie. In the last decade or two, the genre has had trouble staying afloat if there aren't huge plot twists or spectacular fight scenes. But this movie proves that major studios still can make a damn good film that's not ridiculously complicated, sexy, or violent. Sometimes it just takes a bit of meditation on theme and relevance. Some of my favorite moments are simply a result of super-subtle period camerawork. Others (and ones that I will pick up more during more viewings) are the result of editing that juxtaposes conflicting ideas. There's a moment when the Soviet spy goes into court, and as the bailiff commands that "All rise," we jump to a classroom of children rising and reciting the American pledge of allegiance before watching videos about nuclear bombs. There's another lengthy scene that repeatedly mirrors the treatment of the Soviet spy in America with an American spy in Russia. It's scenes like these that help save the film from being mindlessly Americanized (still bitterly thinking of American Sniper) while gently provoking thoughtful conversation over cocktails afterward. Don't get me wrong, it's a movie about an average (if highly intelligent) white American for average white American audiences, but at least it doesn't totally ignore the moral and legal ambiguities and compromises war forces us all into.

IMDb: Bridge of Spies

Steve Jobs (2015)

Score: 5 / 5

I have done exactly no research into the making of this movie or its namesake, so I can't say how realistic the film is. But I can say that the film is perhaps the most consistently engrossing movie I've seen this year. Credit for that goes mostly to writer Aaron Sorkin, whose dialogue is so rich, dense, and kinetic that I occasionally found it hard to breathe in the auditorium. Rarely have I sat through a film with such profound dialogue; I think the last I recall was 2013's August: Osage County.

The film has been advertised as a biography, but in fact it is a fiercely theatrical character study into a superstar's complex backstage life and the demands that ravage his soul. We see our hero (or, arguably, antihero) in three acts, each time only minutes before unveiling a new product, and caught in operatic rhetorical and logistical battles with various members of his personal and professional lives. It's a daring concept for a film, but Sorkin's feverish dialogue burns so quickly and with such brilliance I completely lost myself to it.

The astounding range of the dialogue is matched impressively by director Danny Boyle, who restrains his often peripatetic photography and editing here. He keeps things close and intimate, clean and colorful, and manages to house Sorkin's language in a chamber piece worthy of operatic energy. By the third act, the realism and restraint of the film has been largely cast aside, and Boyle casts us with the characters into a centrifuge of memories, abstracts, and passions. Its final heartstring tugs notwithstanding, the film lets us out of the experience with a more or less pure understanding of the paradoxical heart inside the machine. It's a daring concept for a film, and one the artists deliver in each scene.

Michael Fassbender as the titular character fashions his own distinctive conversational rhythms and marries them to fierce facial expressions and body language almost as inspired as the dialogue itself. He carries the film with apparent ease, though his performance is so raw I can scarcely imagine the lengths he went to in research and practice. Kate Winslet almost manages to match him in energy and skill, but her limited screen time hinders her. With her fabulous Polish accent and lightning delivery, she parries Fassbender's cruelties and queries in biting style.

I don't really know what else to say about this movie. It's dense, intimate, calculated, intense, and grandiose. It's an opera about power and money and fame and love and family and passion. Most important, it's surprisingly beautiful.

IMDb: Steve Jobs