Annabelle (2014)

Score: 2.5 / 5

This one is a bit of a mess. Produced by James Wan (creator of Saw and Insidious), Annabelle advertises itself as a prequel/spin-off of The Conjuring (2013), focused on the eponymous doll briefly featured in that film. If you don't like creepy dolls this is definitely not the film for you, but this is also not Chucky. In fact, my primary problem with this film is that it can't quite decide what it wants to be: possession, home invasion, satanic panic, or haunting. I'm all for complicating genre boundaries, but this just gets confusing. And it seems that director John R. Leonetti views each "type" of horror with a different aesthetic approach, which makes the film inconsistent. I would say that the film's heart lies with a paranoia of the suburban occult, and in this it succeeds over other recent attempts like this year's Devil's Due or Paranormal Activity: The Marked Ones.

Annabelle is mostly full of jump-scares; unless you're scared of hideous porcelain and lace, this one won't keep you up at night. It's a little too familiar, a little too predictable, and a little too relaxed to keep you on the edge of your seat, either. A lazy mixture of Rosemary's Baby (1968) and Child's Play (1988), the filmmakers toss in a little classic haunted house to try and buttress the scary elements, because they know the rest of the film is so weak. Even though it may be the best Satanic panic film in a while, it's also the only one we've seen in some time, and it doesn't really stick to that plot. Cheap scares and poor special effects with little real grasp of the potentially horrific elements makes a disappointingly chilly (but still rather entertaining) Halloween treat.

That's not to say there aren't good moments. Actors Annabelle Wallis and Ward Horton acceptably play the lead married couple, and stole my sympathies if not my strict attention. Tony Amendola plays an unfortunately shallow priest who only serves as a poor plot device reminiscent of The Amityville Horror (1979). Alfre Woodard steals the acting spotlight as the friendly mentor/neighbor. Her character embodies the central "lesson" of the film -- praising a sacrificial mother -- which is surprisingly fresh, I think, in the genre, though it isn't particularly strong in context of this movie.

Leonetti occasionally scores well with his visuals and atmosphere, though they never seems to last long. My favorite scene takes place in the basement, as the panicking mother hallucinates and frantically tries to escape a materialized demon in an elevator that suddenly breaks down. Another good scene takes place near the beginning as an insane couple murder two people, break into our protagonists' house, and attempt more murder. One image that actually did remain in my mind as I turned out the lights last night was one of the titular doll levitating off the floor in veiled light through the window; as it rises, we see a demon's face leering out of the darkness behind it in an image similar to one in Insidious (2010). The film has a number of these little memorable moments, which I think makes it worth a watch on the small screen.

IMDb: Annabelle

Gone Girl (2014)

Score: 5 / 5

After seeing the trailer for this movie, I was expecting a crime mystery and a courtroom drama, much like A Cry in the Dark; the material made me wonder if moments would feel like Taken (2008) or its ilk. I had no idea, however, that it would ultimately feel like Fatal Attraction (1987), and leave me gasping for air. David Fincher's newest thriller Gone Girl is unquestionably one of the most intense dramas I've ever seen. I gasped aloud several times -- which I don't normally do in cinemas -- not because anything leaps out at us, but because it takes us on such a violent roller coaster of emotional connections and clues to its mystery.

Fincher, who notoriously calculates every facet of his films better than his crew, seems a perfect fit for Gillian Flynn's incredible script. Her tight, provocative dialogue and genius pacing paired with his control of atmosphere and tension make this film immeasurably rich. Morbidly funny and mordantly acerbic, this film had me giggling and gasping in places I neither predicted nor particularly wanted to. Fincher and Flynn navigate the thick, heavy plot with grace and style, breaking free of chronological storytelling to present us with a thematic and logistical maze. At each turn, they challenge us to declare our sympathies and allegiances before lifting the veil on our worst fears. Add the fierce talents of his actors, and this film is endlessly watchable, if you have the stomach for it.

Rosamund Pike releases a tempest of strength in this powerhouse role. She turns from fearful victim to brilliant villain, beautiful trophy to ravenous monster, in intimately nuanced moments. Ben Affleck dominates in a role that demands -- indeed, works partly because of -- his stony visage and faraway gaze, and he gives it to us with emotional complexity and guarded virility. Neil Patrick Harris matches their energy and skill (though, sadly, not their screen time) with horrific exactitude and chilling eroticism that I've never seen from him before. And Tyler Perry (whom, I confess, I've never bothered to watch act before) presents us with disguised flair in a very funny and surprisingly direct performance as Affleck's character's attorney.

I want to take some time to talk about the film's horrific themes, though, and how they manifest particularly in the titular character. Amy Dunne (Rosamund Pike), as the title explicitly implies, is our damsel in distress. She is also (SPOILER ALERT) a psychotic murderer and conniving "bitch", as she is called several times. Some have accused this film of promoting a misogynist agenda, largely because Amy is both so stereotypically female and so monstrous. She's skinny, white, blonde, and wealthy; she's artistic, domestic, and narcissistic; she's clever, manipulative, nagging, and cold. She uses especially female concerns to attack the men around her: She accuses an ex of rape, she seduces a man to harvest his sperm and kill him, and she seeks pregnancy to keep her husband bound to her.

The argument that villainous female characters are harmful to feminist art doesn't hold much water, because many people find villains intriguing (think of the recent spike in "antiheroes" in mainstream media, such as Breaking Bad and House of Cards). And consider the psychological attention filmmakers give to "bad bitches" in even more controversial films such as Fatal Attraction (1987) and Basic Instinct (1992), or even in Medea and Macbeth. Even these "evil" portrayals are arguably progressive because, in showing that villainy is gender-blind, they level the playing field. That's all a conversation for another time, but my point is that the labelling of Amy as a misogynistic image of woman is dangerously shallow. But analyzing her stereotype-laden character is wildly provocative.

I have a theory that makes this complex discussion even more mesmerizing. Several elements of the film suggest that it could be viewed as satire. Nick Dunne (Ben Affleck) is as stereotypically male as Amy is female. Their archetypal union in marriage is also all too familiar. The darkly comic humor in their failing marriage and past family drama reveals a thread of biting bitterness that the graceful film broadly and suspiciously tries to gloss over. Bizarre comedy and extravagantly overwrought character tropes -- in the tried-and-true, sensitive, capable hands of both Fincher and Flynn -- suggest to me that there is a lot more going on beyond the otherwise offensively straightforward images of this film.

However, one problem remains in my estimation. Rape still seems to be largely taboo in mainstream media, and when portrayed is often simplified as a straightforward plot device. We don't often see women making false rape claims in films -- which unfortunately and damagingly happens in real life, let's not forget -- but Gone Girl surprisingly puts a stake in it. And, to my endless confusion, the woman who makes this false rape claim is a psychotic, manipulative "bitch" who seeks to ruin and kill the men in her life. I don't know that our culture needs a high-profile example of a sexual woman who uses a rape claim as a legally unquestioned weapon to punish men (for a crime, the film pointedly points out, as mean as losing sexual interest in the woman and disliking her gifts of neckties). Not to mention that the man who supposedly raped her is cast with a slight, anything-but-physically-dominant man; the implication, of course, is that an apparently weak man wouldn't rape a woman (laughably inaccurate), and now said man is sympathetic (more so when we think of his unfair punishment by a government that protects the villain) and the woman is comparatively more wicked (in part because her virulent sexuality has successfully emasculated her former partner).

As you can tell, I'm of two minds on this, and I'm actually okay with that. I think David Fincher wants us to be blown away by how complicated and subversive his new film is. In conclusion, I loved Gone Girl. And my lasting impression is that this is one of the most complex meditations on gender roles that I've ever seen. Its implications are not remotely clear-cut, and should inspire a lot of valuable discussion about feminism, marriage, misogyny, mental disorders, art, violence, and the media.

IMDb: Gone Girl

The Rite (2011)

Score: 4 / 5

This is a prime example of a film that doesn't quite fulfill genre expectations, and so was rather underrated. The title most explicitly refers to the Catholic rite of exorcism, which the film prominently features. It also, however, refers to the central narrative of the film, which is its protagonist's rite of passage; whether into the clergy, manhood, or his own faith is up for discussion. The demonic possession elements of the story -- as well as some expected bugaboo moments -- certainly make this a horror film, but it's not particularly scary. I think that's why it never got much buzz. Its drama, however, is pretty solid, and plenty of skill went into crafting this picture.

The story spins intriguingly off a typical exorcism plotline in that our protagonist is a skeptic. The somewhat resentful son of a religious mortician, Michael Kovak (Once Upon a Time's Colin O'Donoghue) attends seminary intending to rescind his vows upon graduating to earn a free degree. His mentor, Father Matthew (Toby Jones), sees his calm and control in the face of violence and death, and sends him to Rome to become an exorcist under his friend Father Xavier (Ciaran Hinds). Unable to sate Michael's curiosity and skepticism, Xavier sends Michael to learn from Father Lucas (Anthony Hopkins), whose "unorthodox" methods apparently work.

Other elements to the film fit the genre a little too well, unfortunately. Michael's possessed case study -- the pregnant teenager Rosaria -- was raped by her father, supposedly inviting the demonic infestation. Another boy tended to by Father Lucas has been abused, possibly by his mother. But just when we expect the film to follow a rote pattern of sex/age/gender-based possessions, director Mikael Hafstrom and writer Michael Petroni (The Book Thief (2013), The Voyage of the Dawn Treader (2010)) turn the tables. The climax of the film occurs when Father Lucas, vulnerable from doubt and grief, becomes host to a demon, and Michael must perform the exorcism himself.

The dialogue in this film occasionally feels too quotable -- a little too heightened to be taken seriously -- but it also works. I think it works because the story itself is also a bit surreal. Thanks to cinematographer Ben Davis (Guardians of the Galaxy, The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel), the still, wide camera shots, varied colors, and beautiful lighting give the film a dreamy quality that brings the heightened script into balance. Alex Heffes's (The Last King of Scotland (2006), Red Riding Hood (2011)) lovely score similarly could be a little overwrought if the other technical elements were not slightly exaggerated. Director Hafstrom skillfully balances all these aspects while controlling the film with consistent pace, gentle style, and unrelenting tension. He recycles motifs, colors, and images with remarkable attention and perseverance, and its end result is one of a very specific exorcism movie that feels like few others.

Hopkins rules the screen with yet another portrayal of an isolated, frighteningly intelligent man with hell in his brain. I don't deny that he plays villainy better than most could ever hope to, but I do tire of seeing him cast as the crazed old man. To his credit, however, he does find fresh ways to scare us each time. Of course Ciaran Hinds and Toby Jones are fabulous as mentoring priests, though their roles are rather brief. The unsung hero of the film is Colin O'Donoghue, in what I believe is his first (and only?) major starring role in a feature film. His nuanced performance features layers of complexity and intelligence -- which says a lot when by day he fights demons and by night traverses disorienting hallucinations -- until he finally rises from tortured confusion to righteous triumph.

I sometimes think down on this film because it essentially reinforces a male-dominant narrative of returning to faith and the Christian tradition. That, and it does largely ignore the reality of mental illness and the importance of psychiatric attention in possession cases. But as I watch it again, I am reminded that the film does not give in to sentimentality or mindless Christian propaganda. It smartly and subtly weaves its way to a religious conclusion, and I can't fault it for that. If you're going to make an explicitly religious movie about turning to that religious tradition, this is the way to do it.

IMDb: The Rite

The Drop (2014)

Score: 4 / 5

This one took me completely by surprise. I had no idea what I was walking into, and I had no idea who director Michael R. Roskam is. I knew that it is James Gandolfini's final feature film appearance and that it is a crime drama; after seeing A Walk Among the Tombstones, I expected something similar. Each features cold, rough exteriors with cold, rough characters, and each threatens violence far more than showing it. While the chilling, dreamlike atmosphere and simmering tension of both films feel alike, this one disturbed me far more.

A main reason I so liked The Drop is because the whole film is about the two very different sides to its central character, Bob the bartender (Tom Hardy). Bob is a quiet, hardworking, isolated man in Brooklyn who tirelessly works for his cousin, the bar's owner Marv (James Gandolfini). The bar, much like our protagonist, operates on two levels, the lesser-known being "the drop" where the mob collects money. My biggest complaint about the film is that the gangsters are foreign (Chechen, if memory serves), but then again, none of the characters are really "good guys", so take it as you will. Marv stages a robbery at his own bar which triggers an increasingly violent string of events with the mob, culminating in Marv's death. I find that the "crime" aspect of this film isn't its strong suit; without the film's drama, the crime plot is vague and therefore dull.

Early on, Bob finds an injured pit bull puppy abandoned in a trash can. The owner of the house, Nadia (Noomi Rapace), helps Bob nurse it back to health. Their relationship -- which never really comes to fruition, thankfully -- becomes fraught when Eric Deeds starts stalking Bob and Nadia. Deeds previously dated Nadia, and was the abusive owner of the injured pit bull; he demands money of Bob and attempts to make violent claims on Nadia. But gentle and kind Bob, whom Marv warns us not to underestimate, puts an end to Deeds' sadistic overtures in the film's riveting climax.

The performers are all spot-on. Rapace skillfully holds her own as both wounded and tough, and Gandolfini lords over the proceedings as both paternal and desperate. Even the secondary players are really solid, notably Matthias Schoenaerts (playing Eric Deeds) and John Ortiz (playing Detective Torres). But Tom Hardy is the shocking hero of this film, and not just the plot. His performance singly makes this film worth the watch (which is saying a lot, because Roskam's direction, the set design, and cinematography are all enchanting). His chameleon voice takes yet another surprising turn with a deliciously gruff Brooklyn accent, and he internalizes his character so much that I quickly forgot that Bob wasn't a real person. Hardy's every moment on screen is electrifying, with innumerable emotional beats during each faraway gaze and impeccably specific introverted mannerisms. And before the end, we see that the mild-mannered hunk is also the smartest character we've seen in a recent crime drama: Bob allows himself to be underestimated advantageously, and we see Bob the puppy become Bob the vicious pit bull and back again in the blink of an eye.

IMDb: The Drop

Sweeney Todd (2007)

Score: 2.5 / 5

I'm going to admit my bias right away: I hate this film. As a fan of the stage musical, I can't say that Tim Burton's adaptation is even representative of Sondheim and Wheeler's work. But, as I have said before -- and to avoid hypocrisy -- I hope here to objectively view the 2007 film on its own merits and not by comparing it to incomparable media (a book or stage show), and certainly not by comparing it to my expectations of what the film should be. Shall we stroll down Fleet Street together, then? Tuck in, lads.

Since the film is a musical, let's start with the adapted score. The instrumental theme thunderously succeeds, raucously inviting us into a hellish 1846 London. Other slightly tweaked moments, such as Judge Turpin's masquerade ball, sound beautiful and rich onscreen. I find unbalanced, however, the rousing orchestrations and the singers. None of the vocalists (with the exception of young Ed Sanders) are powerful singers, and their voices don't quite fit the operatic scope of the music. Rather, many of the songs are performed clipped and conversational, as if they were stylized dialogue; this would work for "The Worst Pies in London", but not necessarily for "Wait", for example.

Though the singing doesn't always match the score, it arguably does match the style. Tim Burton typically heavily relies on stylized costumes, lighting, acting, camerawork, and visual effects to achieve a specific impression for an audience, and Sweeney Todd is no exception. In fact, his devotion to thick atmosphere, dark wit, and caustic theatricality is admirable and makes this film notably compelling. I find his weighty style in this film a tad damaging, because it occasionally works against the story; he highlights spectacle, which feels redundant since the material is already so spectacular. By the end, it feels so unrealistic that I have little interest in any of the characters or their problems. A big reason for this is Burton's focus on splatter. The deaths of the characters are icky and fun but also distancing. Sometimes this works -- a combination of giggling and shrieking that comes from complementary nastiness -- but when splashed across an otherwise grim and brooding world, I have a hard time accepting any seriousness in the tale.

Pardon a little lecture: Musicals are a lot like Shakespeare. In Shakespeare's plays, there are precious few stage directions, but as scholars will tell you, almost all the dialogue implies some amount of stage direction if you know the signs. Similarly, musicals (more specifically, the music and lyric of musicals) imply a lot of stylistic and acting advice. Having seen this film, I'm not sure Tim Burton or Johnny Depp (among others, no doubt) understand how to "do" a musical, because they ignore a lot of potentially effective moments, while rendering others redundant or oxymoronic. Consider "My Friends", which feels unnecessary because the camera repeats images that mirror (literally) the lyrics, or "The Worst Pies in London", when the editor ignores potentially comedic beats on Mrs. Lovett in favor of showing Sweeney's disgust at the pies (that she's already telling us are disgusting).

A last thought on musical productions: The great paradox of musicals is that, though "realistically" we do not break out into song and dance, in the theatre we burst out into song and the audience automatically believes us. Hopefully they believe us and empathize with us by the power of the music and our vulnerability in the moment. But in this film, I often feel distanced from the characters and the material because the singing is awkward and the style overwrought. That said, "Epiphany" has a great idea in entering Sweeney's mind as he hunts his victims. And I like the visual fantasy in "By the Sea", but its contrast to the rest of the film makes the whole movie feel just that more surreal and contrived, more like an animated picture.

Moving on to the cast. Helena Bonham Carter soars as Mrs. Lovett, and her remarkable strength in humanizing a crazed character makes up for her sometimes shaky vocals. Johnny Depp is an interesting Sweeney: He's somewhat introverted, surprisingly young (I don't believe for an instant that the apparently older Pirelli worked for him as a boy), and apparently can't sing with proper technique though his tone weirdly works in context. Depp and Carter have some nice moments together, but especially shine in "Little Priest". Ed Sanders steals the show as Toby, and his beautiful, powerhouse voice amazes me. Young boys who can sing the part are rare enough (I've seen it convincingly played as an older, handicapped boy), and it seems a little odd that a child would need a "miracle elixir" to grow hair, but Sanders nails it.

Jamie Campbell Bower's vocals are nice, but I don't particularly buy that as Antony he is an experienced sailor. His facials leave a lot to be desired; for example, he can't quite decide what to do with his eyebrows at the end of "Johanna" and I laugh aloud every time (not the proper reaction, mind). Alan Rickman is a wonderful Judge Turpin, his added dialogue is very welcome, and his vocals are a fine supplement to his character work. Timothy Spall delights as Beadle Bamford, and his awkward singing style is fortunately kept to a minimum. Sacha Baron Cohen's attempts at singing are similarly kept short, and his acting is disconnected, vague, and ultimately inconsequential.

Neither Johanna nor the Beggar Woman are given enough screen time to garner our interest, and so the potential romantic and tragic elements of the story are largely discarded. Even Sweeney occasionally loses our interest: his spoken "Forget my face" and sparing of Johanna in the final scene is laughably stupid and wildly uncharacteristic. In conclusion, I find that this film limits its revenge-narrative scope to vague social commentary, stereotype-laden tropes of mental disorders, and a reinforcement of our culture's revulsion of bodily fluids. Do yourself a favor and watch the filmed national tour, with George Hearn and Angela Lansbury, or the recent concert production with Bryn Terfel and Emma Thompson.

IMDb: Sweeney Todd, the Demon Barber of Fleet Street

A Walk Among the Tombstones (2014)

Score: 4 / 5

If you saw the trailer for Liam Neeson's newest action thriller and wanted to pretend it wasn't happening, you weren't alone. Not that those pictures aren't entertaining. Neeson is so good at being badass that people seem interested in watching him shoot people, get in car chases, and say mean things in a gravelly voice, even when the script, camerawork, and score are just awful. More than that, our average audience seems a little too eager to love a now-run-of-the-mill narrative involving a hetero white American man who violently seeks to dominate other (lesser, by virtue of skin color, sexuality, occupation, or ethnicity) men and thereby save apparently helpless, vulnerable, sexually violated, skinny hetero white women.

This film is essentially the same thing. So why do I give it a score of four? Let's talk.

The story is familiar, but this film gives it a fresh approach. Tense, dark, and heavy, it feels more film noir than action thriller. It has no comic self-awareness at all, to its immeasurable credit (with so many similar films under his belt, the day will come). Cinematographer Mihai Malaimare Jr (who also filmed 2012's The Master) views the film as stark and cold, using close-ups and graded colors to highlight this harsh world. Writer/director Scott Frank (who wrote Dead Again, Minority Report, The Wolverine, and Marley & Me) slows things down just enough to make us squirm during the rough stuff -- which is most of the picture, right from the opening shot. Literally. The gunshots in the first scene are loud and grating. Frank keeps this up through the film, to remind us that guns aren't toys or even necessarily the weapons of heroes. They are explosive, unnatural, and dangerous, much like the characters who wield them.

This film is especially striking because its villains are twisted and unnerving, and its heroes are no different. Neeson -- a private investigator hired to find the men who rape, murder, and dismember women -- is hard-boiled, but is also world-weary rather than vengeful. More grim than angry, he lets his acting (which we haven't seen in too long) thrive in the dark charms of Tombstones. There's just enough fresh material for him to shine. Dan Stevens (from Downton Abbey and this year's The Guest) hauntingly plays his employer, a drug kingpin, and recent film star Boyd Holbrook works under him in a no less memorable role. Sebastian Roche (Fringe, among many others) joins later as Yuri, who desperately wants to save his abducted daughter.

For such a graphic and dark film, it stays engaging because it is also a bit of a mystery. In a lot of ways, its aesthetic, tone, and content reminds me of Prisoners (2013). We discover along with Neeson exactly what drives the murderers, what connects the victims, and finally what monsters lurk in the shadows. We see the hope and the hopelessness, we experience the gritty horror and the awkward humor. Speaking of humor, Brian "Astro" Bradley (Red Band Society) plays Neeson's young sidekick TJ, and his banter with Neeson makes this film sparkle. Neeson quickly takes to this kid and eases into a paternal figure, and I love it. The recovering alcoholic (Neeson goes to meetings regularly) subplot is great, and adds a lot to his character. Its match-up with the climax, however, feels too contrived and preachy. I won't say too much, but the twelve steps are voiced-over during the last, I don't know, twenty minutes. That bit's pretty heavyhanded.


IMDb: A Walk Among the Tombstones

The Maze Runner (2014)

Score: 3.5 / 5

Not knowing anything about this one beforehand, I was expecting a rehashing of too many young adult, coming of age, dystopian thrillers that have overwhelmed us in recent years. Looking like Lost or The Hunger Games but essentially (like each of these) an extension of Lord of the Flies, I thought this one looked particularly unlikable simply because of its all (okay, mostly)-male cast and high-tech, ultra-symbolic setting. Of course, each Lost and Hunger Games eventually had a high-tech setting, so I shouldn't have been so harsh. The story is obviously worthy and worth expanding, but I tire of seeing a new version (or two, or three) every year. Point being: This looked familiar and lackluster.

Lackluster it may be, but having finally seen it, I see that this adventure takes us into relatively fresh territory. To its credit, this particularly dark and gritty film avoids the enormous conspiratorial scope of Hunger Games and thus emphasizes its mysterious premise. The film's strongest element is its design: The weirdly geometric, industrial maze becomes a character on its own, edgy and sentient under its vine-covered walls. Though slightly overscored, the film feels larger and more significant than it should because its immense scale is matched by the exciting music. That's a dangerous gamble for first-time-feature-film-director Wes Ball, but it arguably succeeds.

Dylan O'Brien (Teen Wolf) is the only standout performance as Thomas, and his strong lead pulls the whole damn thing together. His solid supporters include Will Poulter (Voyage of the Dawn Treader) and Thomas Brodie-Sangster (Love Actually). The fabulous Patricia Clarkson steps in briefly as the Big Baddie, and we can certainly hope to see more of her. Others in the cast are fine, but mostly stick to their ensemble status, which is fine. Director Ball rightly restricts his focus in the large cast to his leads, though he also sacrifices some valuable emotional moments in doing so.

We unfortunately see most of the film through a shaky, eye-level camera. This can work in actions and thrillers, but it does not a good film make, and it does not work well in excess. It isn't as bad here as in other films, but more often than not it plays in opposition to the potential grandeur of the action. Don't get me wrong, Ball can certainly film a chase sequence, but moments like the attack on the glade are simplified and trivialized because we can't see the death and destruction. There's already a lot of mystery in this film, Ball, mostly because the premise is about being unable to see the horror around us. We need to see what we can in the meantime.

This may be a fault of the novel (I wouldn't know), but the fictional jargon gets old fast. Gladers, runners, grievers, creators, the "changing"; they aren't even remotely original. I understand the need to establish a specific, isolated world, but the hurried exposition makes it all contrived and inflated. Similarly, Thomas's nighttime visions of his past -- overcolored, underwritten, and disjointed -- seem unnecessary because they don't show us diddly. Finally, for a young adult franchise, I find myself utterly disappointed that there is no feminist or queer element whatsoever; fortunately we have a cast of mixed race, but they are all Westernized and speak English. It could be an interesting study of heterosocial masculinities, but those valuable moments are largely sacrificed for action sequences. The only thing that might assuage my "over it" attitude towards these elements is the knowledge that sequels are coming. As a stand-alone picture, this one leaves us wanting.

IMDb: The Maze Runner

Cowboys & Aliens (2011)

Score: 3 / 5

If you thought James Bond and Indiana Jones should team up in the American West to fight extraterrestrial monsters.... Well, let's just say that nobody (except fans of the graphic novel) saw this one coming. And frankly, nobody has said much about it since it premiered. A big factor of that, no doubt, lies with the too-familiar sci-fi plot; the Western elements of the narrative -- though predictable --feel more engaging simply because the Western film is all but dead.

For a film that could be all concept and no content, director Jon Favreau keeps his movie rolling. His kinetic energy gracefully avoids too many gimmicks while still playing off a few too many clichés of both sci-fi flicks and (the long-deceased genre of) Westerns. Dialogue is sparse and banal, but the quiet moments are weirdly absorbing. Harrison Ford delivers a solid performance that slightly departs from his typical work; that's something we don't see much of. Daniel Craig, though, leads with particular intelligence, and his moody presence onscreen is electrifying (mostly because he looks great in chaps).

The narrative is anything but original: Amnesiac man wakes up with mad skills and a secret, makes enemies with townspeople, befriends an exotic woman who assists him, rallies the townspeople in defense of outsiders, and finally defeats said "aliens". And yet, a mash-up of the rustic frontier and futuristic aliens is such an ingenious idea that we don't know entirely how to approach the film. In fact, it's so low-brow that I think most of us are just angry that we didn't think of it first. I'm jumping the gun now, though: I want to see Pirates & Fairies next.

Funky editing, lazy camerawork, and a focus on spectacle make this film dull for me. But I don't hate it; I hardly even dislike it. I think my odd fascination with it -- apart from its conceptual awesomeness -- is that it is so incredibly serious. This film could have easily been a pulpy mess, a campy charade, or a sci-fi dud. Instead, we have a straight action film that keeps punching when its intrigue has run out. Wisely, Favreau stops his cast (and himself) from ever winking at the camera or going too overboard with the weirdness; if they even hinted at meta, the film would have utterly failed. As it is, it is not smart or well-crafted, but it is thoroughly entertaining.

IMDb: Cowboys & Aliens

The Stepford Wives (2004)

Score: 4 / 5

Almost everyone hates this film -- even people who were a part of it -- and frankly I don't understand why. The "Stepford wife" has become a cultural reference point in part because of its many manifestations over the last forty years, and this film is a brave, intelligent addition to their ranks. Does it have its problems? Yes, and arguably more than enough. But I think the critical failure of this film boils down to problems with the critics, not the film.

Ira Levin's (author of Rosemary's Baby and Deathtrap) 1972 novel, a satirical thriller about gender norms in marital relationships, was famously adapted into a 1975 sci-fi thriller film directed by Brian Forbes. There have been at least three unsuccessful attempts at sequels, but the concept has rooted in our minds, sometimes leading us to accuse men of creating their own Stepford wives (I remember hearing Katie Holmes called one during her time with Tom Cruise). The story has been battled out among audiences as being either hopelessly misogynist or subversively feminist with no clear consensus, though I've only ever thought of it as a feminist effort. A big part of the "thrilling" element of the novel and first film is that it reveals to us the dangerous imbalance of gender power and the historically oppressive control of men especially in the institution of marriage. When we see our own norms exaggerated and taken to their extreme limits, we see the dangers of our own behavior, and it scares the hell out of us.

Frank Oz's 2004 remake of the film takes a very different tone from previous adaptations as well as the source material. Screenwriter Paul Rudnick injects a fierce humor into the dialogue that both heightens and trivializes the proceedings; that's not something we see in many films, especially not successfully. Oz parallels Rudnick's incredible two-tone aesthetic in striking visual fashion, moving the 70s housewife trope into a futuristic yet traditional setting. His eye for lurid colors and rigid patterns creates a hypnotic effect, concurrently enchanting and disturbing our expectations of wealthy suburbia. Finally, the actors -- including Nicole Kidman, Matthew Broderick, Bette Midler, Roger Bart, Christopher Walken, and Glenn Close -- provide the glue that pulls these complicated paradoxical stylizations together: Camp. Their performances are so wildly ostentatious that they become grotesques in Oz's world of symbols and sensations.

Part of the problem in discussing this film is that it fuses genres, and I've noticed that that seems to negatively affect some critics. In this case, our expectations for another thriller film are cast off because of the humor, our expectations for camp are conflicted because of the layered social commentary, and our expectations for comedy are darkened by the unsettling nature of the tale. That, and camp has always been hit-or-miss with critics (and artists). Some "get it," some don't. And our camp sensibility has changed, from Bride of Frankenstein (1935) to Burlesque (2010); some people (both audiences and artists) view camp as disturbing and edgy, others as funny and carefree. But camp isn't the same down the line, and style is a difficult thing for most critics to, well, criticize, because of its individual and intimate nature. The camp in this film feels funny most of the time, but I find it disturbing because, like Ira Levin's vision of Stepford, the bright facades mask a dark secret.

Besides the main conflict of feminist vs. misogynist in critical appraisals of the film, even secondary elements aren't black and white (or yellow and pink, to fit the palette). Bette Midler plays a "normal" woman, working as a writer, with frizzy hair, glasses, dark clothes, big teeth, and meat on her bones; she challenges her husband and her mothering duties at every turn while living a life drastically apart from the neighborhood. Her feminist energy, however, is ultimately turned into hyper-feminine, submissive trope of domesticity. Roger Bart plays the (original to this film) urban gay partner of a Stepford resident, and their relationship is painted as stereotypically as most: Bart is flamboyant and feminine while his partner is masculine and distant. But that trope becomes complicated when, after he becomes a Stepford "wife", he runs for a Republican political office; even after he is returned to normal, he declares himself an Independent. Whatever our opinions of these character developments, one thing is strikingly clear about this film: Nothing is what it seems, and no norm depicted in the film is left undisturbed. Even the comedy/thriller genre ambiguity is significant in this way; I would argue that this film is more effective, then, than the 1975 straight thriller.

One of my favorite elements of the film is the simple fact that, for all its commentary on varied facets of life, it doesn't really say anything definitive about them. This film is not propaganda. It has no definite moral, no lessons to impart. It does, however, aggressively open doors to all kinds of conversation. Whether we want to talk about interior design or whitewashed casts, the morality of insanity or marital power struggles, this film presents us with complicated, layered material that just begs for discussion. It pushes boundaries, subverts its own images, characters, and plot devices, and challenges us to think. In fact, maybe it does teach us a lesson: Whatever happens, think independently, lest we all become Stepford wives.

IMDb: The Stepford Wives

Harry Potter 7 & 8

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part 1 (2010)
Score: 5 / 5

My favorite thing about David Yates is that, while his "big picture" goal for his Harry Potter films remains constant, each of his four installments has a distinctive aesthetic that broadens our view into the wizarding world. Yates views Deathly Hallows: Part 1, the thematically darkest film in the franchise, with an eye toward gritty violence. Between the sweeping panoramas and emotional conversations, we see a few shockingly visceral fights, including the Death Easter attack in the night sky and the Snatcher chase near the end. Filtered through stylized camerawork and higher contrast, these sequences (among others) feel grainy and tactile, almost like footage from an action or war film.

Our three leads successfully venture into new acting territory. Rupert Grint's sulking presence is his best in the series. Emma Watson and Daniel Radcliffe shine in their connected, emotionally rooted performances. We see few other faces for any length of time, but plenty in passing. King of these is Rhys Ifans as tragic and chilling Xenophilius Lovegood. Bill Nighy gives a face to Rufus Scrimgeour, and Andy Linden (whom I do not recall from other major works) gives us an 'orribly charming Mundungus Fletcher. Imelda Staunton, Jason Isaacs, Helena Bonham Carter, Tom Felton, John Hurt, Ralph Fiennes, and Toby Jones reprise their roles from earlier in the series to great, if brief, success. Finally, I want to point out the amazing Kate Fleetwood, who plays the almost inconsequential Mary Cattermole, because she's a great Lady Macbeth (2010) and even showed up in Les Miserables (2012).

The emotional opening sequence takes us from intrigued to sad to terrified, as we see new Minister of Magic Rufus Scrimgeour taking power, our heroes leaving their homes, and Voldemort plotting with his Death Eaters. This expertly crafted opening leads into one of the more exciting action sequences we've seen in the franchise. Before Harry and his friends attempt to fly to safety, they take a potion to appear like Harry, creating a chaotic diversion for the enemy. The Death Eaters attack in a particularly disturbing aerial battle and split up to target the seven Harrys. Hedwig's death in this scene is more satisfying than in the book, because her sacrifice serves as the signal of which Harry is real, rather than a specific spell he uses.

Unfortunately, a few moments are skated over or hurriedly introduced because we have not spent nearly enough time on them in previous films (which has been fine, up till now). Scrimgeour and Mundungus are tossed into the mix rather unceremoniously, but not gracelessly. Auntie Muriel (Matytelok Gibbs) and Elphias Doge (David Ryall) have an abbreviated but memorable conversation during the Weasley wedding (oh, and we can't forget Fleur's lovely dress). While Voldemort's search for the wand is handled well, we could have hoped for more of Dumbledore's backstory; unfortunately, Yates had to cut something, and this was about all he could spare. The lack of information on this front, however, certainly adds to the atmosphere of doubt and speculation. Finally, the shard of glass Harry looks at is oddly left unexplained; though we see its significance in the final film, it still feels awkward and unsatisfying.

Talky and taut, moody and broody, this film oozes paranoia and desolation. Yates's approach even feels like in an indy film several times, and he highlights the complicated, mostly wordless emotions of our leads as they migrate through isolated wilderness. But even more typical Potter moments eke out surprising edge-of-your-seat sensations, as in our heroes' nervously funny infiltration of the Ministry and the masterful venture into Godric's Hollow (a scene that I would have dragged out longer). My favorite scene, though, belongs to Hermione's Tale of the Three Brothers, with its beautiful animation; its colors, pacing, and design are perfect, and serve as the film's crux in fabulous style. The palpably dark climax in Malfoy Manor, Dobby's death, and Voldemort's seizing of the Elder Wand make for a solid, brutal sequence and spike up the energy leading into the final film.

IMDb: The Deathly Hallows: Part 1

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part 2 (2011)

Score: 5 / 5

The perfect ending to the series, and a damn good film to boot, Deathly Hallows Part 2 is also one of the best fantasy action films I've ever seen. I say that for a lot of reasons, but foremost is this: Director David Yates understands that the key to any action/fantasy film is to use special effects in support of the drama. Of course, this film has more drama than most films, period, but Yates could easily have gone overboard with his special effects. As it is, the film is heavy with computer-generated visuals; Yates reins them in and darkens them so much, though, that they feel natural and essential to his telling of the story.

Though we see a lot of faces in this, few perform any noteworthy scenes, which is fine for this smash-bang finale.  Oh, and the makeup in this film is particularly great. Emma Watson and Helena Bonham Carter team up for a very funny opening sequence of breaking into Gringotts. Warwick Davis plays a delightfully nasty Griphook, and John Hurt sets a dire tone for the film as Ollivander. Daniel Radcliffe, Alan Rickman, and Ralph Fiennes own the film, as they should, in utterly incredible performances. Rickman's stony features finally crack and his dramatic power is laid bare. Maggie Smith and Julie Walters head the fight for Hogwarts in energetic triumph, and Matthew Lewis leads Neville Longbottom to a rousing victory.

The slow, talky opening at Shell Cottage perfectly bridges from the previous film, and the Gringotts madness quickly picks up the pace. Alexandre Desplat continues his great score, and Steve Kloves (screenwriter for all previous films but Order of the Phoenix) gives us his best script and dialogue yet, considering a film so spread apart in terms of crucial and simultaneous plot points. We see familiar faces and walls -- like the Chamber of Secrets -- but we also see new ones in this final picture, such as the Gray Lady (Brave (2012) star Kelly Macdonald) and the Hogwarts boathouse. All are wonderfully realized and beautifully cinematic, with the possible exception of one: Ciarán Hinds, whom I love, plays a fine but brief Aberforth Dumbledore, whose part is woefully underwritten.

Snape's stylized denouement is brave and emotional; though it doesn't get as detailed as Rowling's description, Yates views it as how it feels, not necessarily what it says. Yates's eye for visuals commands ours in this epic ending, and every moment feels monumental and eternal because he understands the drama of the series so thoroughly. The entire battle of Hogwarts is great, but my favorite moment happens as Harry, Ron, and Hermione fight through the courtyard to get to the boathouse. It's one of the busiest sequences of the film, but it is also one of the most dramatic, as our heroes battle through hell to reach the devil.

Voldemort has more screen time in this film than the others, and Ralph Fiennes owns it. His icy facade degenerates into fiery cruelty as he is forced to face his own mortality. From his bloody massacre of the Gringotts employees to his death-disintegration, we see him painted as a corporeal body, paradoxically both increasingly human and decreasingly human. Keeping with this, Fiennes's movement work here rivals his own in Goblet of Fire. His dilemma makes this film, when we focus on his character, a horror film: Besides its tragic elements of blindness, oversight, and loss, we see his body breaking down, bleeding, and suffering much like ours. His desperate grasps at divinity also reveal themselves in his dialogue. My favorite line of his happens before he kills Snape, telling him, "You've been a good and faithful servant, Severus, but only I can live forever." In this cruel corruption of what all good Christians hope to someday hear (Matthew 25), Voldemort takes his servant's service, life, and hope while attempting to deify himself.

Harry, on the other hand, fulfills his obviously Christ-like role in the series by coming to terms with himself and understanding the sacrifice he must make. In one of (if not the) most emotional twist climaxes in film memory -- which doesn't even feel entirely novel -- Harry learns the secrets of his past and the secrets deep within him. Radcliffe controls the emotions of Harry incredibly well from this scene right through his death, his beautiful conversation with Dumbledore, and his victorious return to life. What else can we say about this film? Only that it may have deserved more awards, but probably couldn't have garnered much more praise.

IMDb: The Deathly Hallows: Part 2