Mortdecai (2015)

Score: 4 / 5

Everyone seems to hate Mortdecai -- this year's first big comedy -- but I didn't. In fact, being someone who categorically avoids comedies, I was surprised to enjoy it as much as I did. I laughed out loud through most of the film, which doesn't make it great by any measure, but it certainly claimed my favor. A lot of factors play into its apparent failure: it plays off stereotyped Britishisms so heavily that that seems to be its central theme, its crime and action sequences are few and far between (and simply not very good), and there is little real plot or character development. So why did I like it?

Mortdecai, featuring an A-list cast of Johnny Depp, Gwyneth Paltrow, Ewan McGregor, and Paul Bettany, bounces off hilarious characterizations and sharply intelligent performances with infectious speed and fervor. Depp feels plucked straight out of a period farce and dropped into a modern world that could never quite embrace him; this is also perfect for his character, who in one scene repeats his concern that a Los Angeles hotel is in fact the set of a porno film. Paltrow and McGregor balance Depp's wild turn as solid caricatures, one a domineering and resourceful woman, the other an officer smitten with puppy love. Paul Bettany mirrors Depp's every move with a stoic, sexually voracious bodyguard/manservant who literally takes shot after shot for his boss (and some delivered by his boss). Director David Koepp (who also directed Secret Window, 2004) keeps the visuals bright and clean, heightening the world into a farcical fantasy, where even the silly animated transitions between continents are strangely entertaining (perhaps not quite so much as the dotted maps in Indiana Jones, but that shit's just genius).

It's not the sleuth/caper/action film I expected, but it certainly has some shining moments of comedy and style that are simply rare in modern comedies (though I say this having little real experience with such films). Depp's scene-stealing mannerisms as the posh, prissy art dealer are mesmerizing, and his constant banter about his Poirot-like mustache is at once absurd, redundant, and hilarious. True, he spends most of his time on screen mugging for the camera, but that's sometimes what works best for an actor of his peculiar talents. Besides the great chemistry between Depp, Paltrow, and Bettany, all the cast shares an uncanny knack for perfect comedic timing, from Depp's nervously mumbled warblings to the sympathetic gagging between husband and wife over the former's shiny little mustache. Unfortunately, we see precious little of Olivia Munn and Jeff Goldblum, though their moments are also lovely.

If you're looking for a zany absurdist comedy to enjoy after this year's whirlwind of an awards season, you could do much worse than Mortdecai. In fact, for a genre that's been largely extinct in America for a few decades now, this film rocks at achieving its own larger-than-life agenda. No, the script won't have you digging for information or clues, and no, the car chases and shoot-outs aren't anything to remember later on. But for sharp wit, bizarre style, and utterly madcap performances, Mortdecai gives us its all.

IMDb: Mortdecai

American Sniper (2014)

Score: 2.5 / 5

War films are hard. Besides the contentious material itself, any artistic approach should avoid serious dramatic pitfalls and political and ethnic insensitivity, while also (hopefully) holding fast to its own thematic and ideological concerns. I'm not saying the film needs to "pick a side" morally, but I would hope that it doesn't become mired in its own efforts as a commercial product and lose its aesthetic integrity. There are many war films that follow that highway to failure, but there are a handful of gems out there. Remember Platoon (1986), Apocalypse Now (1979), The Deer Hunter (1978), and Bigelow's two knockout epics, The Hurt Locker (2008) and Zero Dark Thirty (2012)? Even this year's  Fury won a special place in my heart for its harsh portrayal of violence, desperation, and brotherhood.

American Sniper has all the makings of an award-grabber. Based on the autobiography of Chris Kyle, the film follows the sharpshooter's tours in the Middle East after September 11 and his subsequent difficulties returning to civilian life. It's a moving story, to be sure, and one that is both timely and important for our nation. But its praise needs to be checked, as this material is not remotely fresh: The Hurt Locker details almost the same sort of post-traumatic torture for soldiers returning home, and it came out seven years ago. I cite that particular example because it also accomplishes this more subtly, forcing the audience to meditate on PTSD, rather than (as in Sniper) being told explicitly and repeatedly that the protagonist is having trouble. I don't think films need to spell out everything; we can think for ourselves. Well, most of us can.

Director Clint Eastwood, armed with a script practically gift-wrapped for success, has let me down yet again. Granted, I wasn't expecting much (as usual, because it's Eastwood), and frankly I was still bitter about the recent Oscar nominations (of which Sniper has claimed six). But he's done well with war films before -- remember Letters from Iwo Jima (2006)? -- so I didn't discredit this venture in advance; not even when I entered the theater and found myself surrounded by old white men. I kept an open mind. I promise. Of course, the racial/ethnic side of Sniper isn't nearly as complicated as Iwo Jima was (nor as wonderfully complex and rich as in Bigelow's war films), and so the assertive grunts and occasional moments of applause -- yes, applause -- from these old white men around me made me grind my teeth more than once.

Thankfully, Eastwood minimized my hostility by training his camera on his leading man, Bradley Cooper: Our consistently intimate view of his face carries the film with far greater impact than any action sequences. Cooper keeps rigid control of his visage, though he magically and simultaneously allows us to peek in at the tumultuous confines of his mind. Much like the hero he plays, Cooper carries the film almost singlehandedly. Eastwood doesn't help him out much, allowing the mildly exciting action sequences to tend toward the spectacular rather than the novel or even visceral. I still can't decide what the little "climax" in the dust storm was all about: desperate attempt at last-minute spectacle, or poorly executed clichéd metaphor?

But Eastwood's primary sin, for me, is his apparent indecision regarding the subject matter. Let me clarify: His passion for Chris Kyle's story and his sympathy for that character are obvious. He doesn't, however, follow a consistent ideological path, which makes both the film's tone and effect ambiguous. The (mostly) explicitly pro-war, pro-American, traditionally masculine characters present one kind of message, while the graded colors, graphic visuals, and ultimate sympathy for postwar trauma suggest another. And besides the film's opinion of war, we see more clearly its opinions of secondary issues. For instance, Kyle's wife as a character could have been much more sympathetically depicted and dramatically dynamic.

As a final note, I would understand -- but intensely disagree with -- if Eastwood didn't want to appear to be making an anti-gun statement in his film's ending, but his failure to account for Kyle's death, in my opinion, both disrespects his memory and removes the central ironic tension in the story. In case you didn't know (or couldn't guess), Kyle was murdered that Saturday by a veteran he was helping to cope with alleged PTSD. More specifically, he and a companion were shot dead by the man while they were at a shooting range. Now, I mean no disrespect to Kyle and his efforts to help other wounded soldiers, but I might hazard speculation on the murderer's circumstances (was he being cared for by any psychologist or physician?) and question the logic in taking someone with a serious psychological disorder to a place where their memories can so easily resurface in accordance with an activity so utterly violent. Regardless of the real situation, Eastwood's choice to ignore that crucial moment entirely takes any "umph" out of the film's ending.

IMDb: American Sniper

Selma (2014)

Score: 5 / 5

One of the most direct, intelligent films I've seen on racial politics in twentieth-century America, Selma is also one of the best films of the year. It doesn't preach quite as much as last year's big winner 12 Years a Slave, and it isn't as overtly sentimental as most films with a message. Ava DuVernay directs with crystal clear compassion and understanding, paired with an aggressive sense of narrative rhythm. She demonstrates time and again her willingness to show all aspects of her story, which makes her collaboration with her lead actor that much more interesting.

Driven by a fierce and engrossing performance by the incredible David Oyelowo, the film follows Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., as he works in Selma, Alabama, to overcome racial inequality and bring voting rights to the desegregated South. But King, for all his eloquent fervor and passionate dreams, isn't depicted here as anything but profoundly human -- complete with uncertainty, self-doubt, and exhaustion. We see firsthand -- literally, as the camera often takes to the street riots with handheld urgency -- exactly how King worked in both private and public life. And we see that his dreams have yet to come true in our own culture.

DuVernay and her team (notably cinematographer Bradford Young) brilliantly pull no punches, but they also carefully set up the film to allow for the countless parallels of social injustice in our own twenty-first-century country. And I don't just say that because John Legend and Common's credits song "Glory" references Ferguson. They not-so-delicately pull back the curtains on white privilege and the system of white power enshrined in our political and social institutions. Perhaps the most concise scene in this respect is when Annie Lee Cooper (played by the amazing actor Oprah Winfrey -- there, I said it) attempts yet again to apply for voters' registration. Or perhaps it's when the governor (?) played by Tim Roth discusses the Selma marches with president Lyndon B. Johnson (Tom Wilkinson) and blatantly reveals his racist agenda but receives no explicit reprimand. Or maybe it's when white preacher James Reeb (Jeremy Strong) who joined the marches is brutally and fatally attacked by white supremacists who declare that "The only thing we hate more than a nigger is a white nigger." In all these scenes and more, the filmmakers' sense of urgency and honesty make this historical drama quite thrilling and its message all the more critical.

IMDb: Selma

The Imitation Game (2014)

Score: 4 / 5

A surprisingly cold and calculated film, The Imitation Game indeed feels much like a game throughout: one of secrecy and facades, one of brilliance and progression, and ultimately one for which the penalty is death. Our story concerns the life of one Alan Turing, a British mathematician who helped break the Enigma Code, and who was thus key to Nazi Germany's defeat in World War II. Seemingly as a reward for this success, he was criminally prosecuted for his sexuality and chemically castrated before his (alleged) suicide in 1954.

Benedict Cumberbatch performs Turing with his tried-and-true ability to clearly paint a character whose mind works far quicker and abler than most of us could imagine. But he also -- and rather unexpectedly, I thought -- delivers a powerhouse emotional performance, smartly masked by his adherence to cultural and social conventions (namely, what we might affectionately note as a stereotypical British aversion to emoting). In the few moments when his character does let his feelings loose, Cumberbatch bravely owns the screen with vulnerability and honesty. His own performance, I should say, isn't so much an imitation game as an Enigma code in its own right, and one that deserves still more brilliant minds to solve. And his supporting cast is not much less impressive. Kiera Knightley parries his every move with flawless empathy and energy; Matthew Goode and Allen Leech play Turing's complex and conflicted co-code-breakers, while Mark Strong and Charles Dance add strength as intelligence commanders for an operation so secret that even once the code has been broken they cannot disclose their success.

Director Morten Tyldum and writer Graham Moore, however, have created an endlessly watchable maze of intelligence and subtlety, and one that is in itself a most dangerous game of wit and skill. As you might expect, the "code" motifs and rhetoric of the film have seemingly endless parallels and riffs in morality, sexuality, society, and so forth, making the film constantly fresh and engaging. I don't particularly like the excess of "footage" interspersed throughout the film; I think the newsflash images are meant to ground us in the world and give us context, but for a film this intimate, all they do is take me out of the moment.

Interestingly -- and very significantly, as far as I'm concerned -- there is no "sex scene", no lurid kiss. I'm not aware of many films with a gay protagonist that haven't sought to exploit (or punish) his carnality, so I was very pleased with that [I should clarify: Turing himself (and in terms of the plot here) is punished for his alleged proclivities, but this film's commentary on that punishment is explicitly negative]. This omission fits quite well with this particular film, moreover, because so much of Turing's character is its own secrecy. We do, however, see his youth in school, as he apparently developed love for a fellow classmate; this kind of sentimentality at first put me off, but later I realized that, rather than forcing any rote sexual encounter into the film, our filmmakers wanted to emphasize a psychological and emotional approach to Turing's character. Bravo.

One last note: Alexandre Desplat's score is a knockout. I might be biased because he's one of my favorites, but it's really amazing here.

IMDb: The Imitation Game

Big Eyes (2014)

Score: 4.5 / 5

Big Eyes -- perhaps the one film this year of which I had no expectations because I didn't know it was happening -- is beautiful. It tells the real-life story of Margaret Keane, from her marriage to Walter Keane to their divorce and her personal and artistic independence. Offering commentary on a multitude of topics from classism and sexism to artistic integrity and commercial savvy, director Tim Burton departs from his familiar genre and instead proves his mad skills at making more traditional films. In fact, this marks the second of two Burton films I would ever choose to watch again, the first being Big Fish (2003). I've heard some argue that the film loses some of its steam when it returns to plot instead of exploring its thematic implications, but for a biographical drama to have so many thematic concerns at all, I was pleased with the balance Burton found.

Amy Adams succeeds yet again -- no surprise there -- playing our hero in this vibrant and charming excursion. Her own enormous eyes (often glossy with tears) are put to good use here, as she evolves from contentedly painting for herself to serving her controlling husband and ultimately to reclaiming her name and work as her own. Adams imbues incredible vulnerability into her role, and captivates in every moment. Christoph Waltz almost matches her energy as a manipulative and conniving business man, eager to make a family and determined to achieve commercial and social success. And when he loses his cool, a little over halfway through the film in a more recognizably Burton-esque scene, he is riveting as he maniacally aims lit matches at his wife and child.

In case you couldn't guess it, this film is sharply feminist. And not just because it follows a strong and talented leading character (blonde, feminine, and a mother, no less) in a year so far largely devoid of serious dramatic female roles. Burton -- and his writers Scott Alexander and Larry Karaszewski -- frames the film with sharp rhetoric and and a sensitive eye to Keane's plight. Sensitive, I might note, but not quite sentimental. He doesn't treat this as a romantic drama or a case study of marriage, but as a universal artistic issue and timeless feminist drama. The message of Big Eyes seems more effective because it is also a shameless crowd-pleaser, featuring vibrant colors and Burton's typically fantastic (in the literal sense of the word) directing style. There is also a really interesting disconnect between the eerily clean sets and the messy intangibles (interpersonal marital/family drama) that I'm not quite sure what to do with; and another between the sad big-eyed paintings and the apparently happy (bright, clean) visuals of the film.

IMDb: Big Eyes

The Woman in Black 2: Angel of Death (2015)

Score: 2 / 5

Sequels are hard, I don't think there can be any doubt about that, and horror sequels tend to get a worse rap than most because they are also harder to make than most. Besides basic plot (which needs to be accessible while building on the first), the creators need to either amp up the scares or the dramatic intensity (or both, if possible). Few horror franchises can do this, and even fewer succeed. After The Woman in Black (2012) signaled to the world that Hammer-produced films were back in business and that pure, traditional ghost stories -- a dying breed in the last couple decades -- could be both critically and commercially successful, I expected a series to start. But whereas the first film took its inspiration from tried-and-true source material (a book, television movie, and wildly popular stage play), I worried that any sequels would fail to match its impact.

My misgivings were well-founded. The new script leaves a lot to be desired, both in terms of dialogue and pacing and in terms of thematic integrity. Essentially, the film follows young schoolteacher Eve as she shepherds her students out of London during the Blitz. We know, of course, that children should not be within a hundred miles of Eel Marsh House, the crumbling Gothic mansion in a foggy, desolate swamp. But sweet Eve doesn't seem to appreciate that the abandoned town (complete with crazed, lone inhabitant) and the filthy, dangerous mansion are no place to hide a group of children. As we expected, things go bump in the night, shadows move in the background, and nightmares creep into reality, and though Eve begins to lose her cool, it is not until the end that she finally declares the house unfit for her charges. No shit, girlfriend.

The main problem with this film is its script, lumping exposition into a couple scenes with painfully blunt dialogue, and forgetting until the last twenty minutes or so that character development is important. None of the actors are allowed to shine much, because none are given much material to work with, and the plot's minimal drama makes the characters flat and uninteresting. I felt no sympathy for Eve because she communicates poorly, loses track of her students constantly, and repeatedly falls into sentimental stupor. Since the emotional arc of the film hinges on her, that's not a good thing for me to say.

While few horror films could wish for a better cast than The Woman in Black (Daniel Radcliffe, Ciaran Hinds, Janet McTeer), its sequel harbors its own gems. Phoebe Fox (a relative newcomer) and Helen McCrory (Harry Potter, The Queen, Hugo) do the best with what they are given, and at least manage to make distinctive character choices. Handsome Jeremy Irvine (War Horse, The Railway Man) stole the movie for me, acting as a love interest (and, unfortunately, the film's deus ex machina) with intelligence and surprising intensity in otherwise dull scenes.

New director Tom Harper (James Watkins brilliantly directed the first) seems determined to succeed in visual style where the script lacks. Though not as visually striking as the first film, he pumps in the atmosphere so much that the film feels dreamlike. In fact, some moments are so dark (in terms of color and light) that I could barely see what was happening in the background (which is of course where all the exciting things happen), even on the big screen. But Harper fails at scaring up any new thrills or chills, resorting to recycled bits from the first film to make us jerk awake. In fact, some of these "scares" had me giggle a little, simply because they were familiar, rather predictable, and poorly executed. That's not to say the film is a waste of time -- in fact, the best moments showcase the chemistry between our wonderful Jeremy Irvine and the lead girl (what's her name again?) -- but it could be better. And if you want to see a blind Ned Dennehy lunging out of the darkness in a nightmare-worthy scene, you could do worse than a visit to Eel Marsh House.

IMDb: The Woman in Black 2

Birdman (2014)

Score: 5 / 5

The obvious frontrunner for this year's award season is also uncommonly good. Too often, it seems, the movie that gets the most hype (for whatever that's worth) is also sentimental or traditional, and sometimes both. A lot of people tend to attach baggage to the Best Picture Oscar, wanting it to be timely or eternal, classic or fresh, comfortable or edgy, and so forth. My main consideration for Best Picture is how state-of-the-art it appears to be: Technically original, aesthetically fresh, pushing boundaries, and (more subjective, obviously) appropriate to popular culture. Birdman is all of these things, and then some.

I know you've heard people raving about how great this film is, and like me, you probably got a bit annoyed partly because nobody is talking about the film's plot. So what is this thing? Michael Keaton plays an actor who is attempting to re-create his career following the success of a series of "Birdman" movies in which he played the titular superhero. Two decades later, he is writing, directing, and starring in a Broadway play that opens soon and is having nothing but trouble taking flight (yes, flight). Besides his dramatic attempts onstage, our protagonist is plagued by conflict in his personal life as well, with his friends (Zach Galifianakis), girlfriend and actress (Andrea Riseborough), ex-wife (Amy Ryan), daughter/employee (Emma Stone), and co-star actor (Edward Norton) and his girlfriend/actress (Naomi Watts).

This all-star cast rocks their individual roles, and intelligently embody the world of the film as its ensemble. This is very "meta" stuff, but our actors fit comfortably into their supporting roles, just as their fictional counterparts maneuver into place around their leading man. Edward Norton and Emma Stone arguably have the most complex characters and perform them with remarkable strength, but truly all the characters (and their actors) are almost stunningly well-written and fully realized. But they aren't the only good things about this movie.

Director/co-writer Alejandro Gonzalez Inarritu (Biutiful, Babel, 21 Grams) helms this black comedy with such ingenuity, intelligence, and skill that it is immediately understood as a consummate work of art. For all the themes and motifs we could eke out of this complex film -- from its not insignificant title to its final shot -- Inarritu directs with an eye for beauty and magic. Stunning special effects happen somewhat unexpectedly, as Keaton's character is empowered by the voice of Birdman in his head to move objects with his mind and levitate, and the heavy lighting transforms what we see on screen into a tableau of fantasy and wonder.

It's technically incredible. Besides the awesome lights, Inarritu makes the two-hour film look like a single, continuous shot. It was obviously not filmed that way, but the effect is brilliant: we get a real-time peek into a man's life. When Keaton is alone we see his secret powers, the emotions of his encounters with other people are raw and fresh, and we see his show from casting to opening night as one single episode. Inarritu plays with his own technical approach, then, in that we see many moments separated by time as one shot; in one scene we see magic juxtaposed with the most mundane of daily activities; we see more profound drama offstage than on. Inarritu is making a movie about movies, a film about theatricality, with timely references and modern theatre concerns, replete with magic and mayhem, that ultimately emphasizes the beauty, complexity, and wonder of life. This movie is, literally, everything.

IMDb: Birdman

Into the Woods (2014)

Score: 5 / 5

If you recall, I often limit my consideration of a film in terms of its source material (be it history, literature, or both) because adaptations and changes in medium render such comparisons useless. But because I am more sympathetic to theatrical purists than to pretentious readers who expect other people to share their vision of a work, I will concern a large part of the following with the effects of the changes made to this film adaptation from its staged roots. Why? Partly because theatre is far more collaborative than literature, and partly because so much of this film's material is directly translated from the stage. Are we all okay with that? Very well -- let's journey on. "Into the woods and out of the woods and home before dark!"

Starting from the top, Rob Marshall directs this fantastic excursion with surprising novelty, perhaps one of the film's greatest strengths. He finds subtle moments (in a slightly altered screenplay by James Lapine) and fleshes them out into juxtaposed moments of dark humor, tragedy, slapstick, and romance, all framed with so much fantasy atmosphere that the film itself feels like a dream. This film is surprisingly dark, and not just in tone, so don't be expecting a fabulous turn in the theater this holiday season. The fluid and versatile cinematography (by longtime Marshall co-visionary Dion Beebe) almost always works for me, and the lighting is simply perfect, often featuring a lone light peering through the branches and thickets of the shadowy woods. Though using similar narrative devices from his previous movie-musicals, Marshall does not go for glitz and glamour in this picture; here, he dazzles us with atmosphere and emotionally charged visuals, effects, and close-ups on his actors. Celebrated costumer Colleen Atwood dresses everyone beautifully, and though it's an obvious favorite, she really outdoes herself on the Witch's blue and sheer dress in the second act. Stephen Sondheim's phenomenal music is brought into stunning character in the film, where we can hear nuanced sound and more delicate instrumentals than in many a live theatre. Instrumental versions of cut songs keep the emotional pace of the film in step with the stage show, appeasing fans (or at least me) with beats that few (if any) average moviegoers will appreciate.

Okay, let's just dive right in, and we'll talk about scenes, actors, and the like as they come up. The Intro is a fourteen-ish-minute thrill ride, and the editor nails the fast scene changes and follows quirky lyric with adept skill and understanding of the material. Marshall and his team had their work cut out for them -- establishing character, plot, setting, and musical coherence -- and they excel, allowing the humor of moments (Cinderella and her birds), the atmosphere of an imposing forest (Red Riding Hood skipping into a dark tunnel), and emotional foundation (Jack and his mother) to combine and explore themselves before the movie really begins. "Hello Little Girl" is rather nice, featuring Johnny Depp (and his awkward vocals) in a slightly furry zoot suit, with enhanced wolfish growls and glowing eyes. Red Riding Hood, nailed by little Lilla Crawford and her great voice, charms with "I Know Things Now", in which we see a trippy but effective sequence of her looking like Alice as she falls down a purple rabbit hole and finding her grandmother in the Wolf's belly. Sadly, we do not get "Maybe They're Really Magic", but that doesn't stop James Corden and Emily Blunt from owning their roles as the Baker and his Wife. Their interaction and dynamic emotional journey hits a high point in "It Takes Two", which is staged more appropriately and intelligently than I've ever seen on stage.

"Agony", featuring the hunky and slightly campy Chris Pine and Billy Magnussen, is incredible. Climbing atop a waterfall, splashing themselves with water, and tearing open their shirts, the two men are endlessly charming (ha?). Sadly, we don't get to see them reprise the song in the second act, which greatly shortens their screen time. Daniel Huttlestone's voice doesn't quite appeal to me -- though he does earn the character as poor dumb Jack -- but his tree-climbing physicality in "Giants in the Sky" worked really well, especially since on stage the number is usually fairly spotlighted and movement-less. Anna Kendrick shines as sweet Cinderella, and her slightly altered "On the Steps of the Palace", wisely changed to present-tense, is lovely. Moving into the second act before we talk about the more complicated bits, "Witch's Lament" is sadly only one-third of its proper length. I don't know why they cut it down, and it makes me sad to not hear the whole thing. But the change in Rapunzel's fate struck me as decidedly more tragic than on stage, and though I won't spoil it here, I think it fits in a lot better with Marshall's central theme for the picture (which we'll discuss later). Meryl Streep is the star here, and her every moment on screen steals the movie anew. I don't know how she does it, but she puts an astounding amount of energy and heart into her role as the Witch. The staging for "Last Midnight" makes the scene the best in the film; besides Meryl's award-worthy performance in that single song, the whirling camera, lighting, and special effects combine in the most dazzling musical theatre number I've ever seen on film except perhaps "All That Jazz" in Chicago.

We lack the sung transition pieces that mark each midnight as they pass, but moments like that (and, later, the characters sharing their learned lessons) just wouldn't work as well in a film. I believe that is also why the Mysterious Man/Narrator has been cut, mostly because the magic of that character revolves around his physical presence on screen and the duality of his role. That tension finally peaks in the second-act song "No More", which is also omitted in this film for the same reason. It's a beautiful moment on stage, but Marshall and Lapine very dangerously and, I think, wisely sacrificed it to bring greater strength to other moments. Let's face it, even on stage, there is no much happening in the script that the show can be overwhelming and start to languish in its own dense rhetoric. Omitting the Narrator and including more references to the Witch's mother and Cinderella's parents make one of the show's more interesting themes rise to exciting new levels (and influence the finale, as we will discuss later). Elements like the Narrator can work well when we can see them live, but would become confusing in a film that is not divided into acts and that does not allow characters to walk on and directly address the audience. Similarly, I'm okay with omitting "Ever After", a lovely transition number that would only really work well if we had the other numbers that revealed character lessons, and that satirizes fairytale rhetoric in preparation of the second act (so it wouldn't make sense without an intermission).

The ending works perfectly for me as a film. I understand that people will be upset: non-previous-fans because it's not a typical "happy ever after", and stage-show fans because it doesn't have the theatrical wink and giddy, bouncy ending that makes audiences feel less disturbed as they exit the auditorium. But the slow pan across the forest and onto the cloudy, almost-sunlight sky as Streep sings the ever familiar "Children Will Listen" is one of the most emotionally honest and transcendent moments on film we've seen this year. The ending features a dreamy confluence of narrator voices that draw from a pool of characters, including the Baker, his father, his wife, and even the Witch; I believe this is done partly to round out their variously tragic stories and bring them back to some sort of "life", and also to again emphasize the unspoken central theme in this movie of the emotional dynamics between absent parents and their children. That's a theme that isn't really central to the stage show, and frankly Marshall's meditation on it here is one of the most moving elements to this film due to its relative novelty. Marshall also repeatedly pushes the lesser themes of moral confusion ("Moments in the Woods", "No One is Alone"), the importance (and dangers) of decision-making ("Your Fault/Last Midnight"), and a certain inevitability about entering the woods ("Into the Woods").

With these ideas, the final shot perhaps works better than a smash-bang chorus finale, because we are left with our survivors joining together in the sunlight, hoping (more than wishing) for a bright future, though they are still deep in the forest. Melancholy as it may be, it doesn't leave us untouched. Rather than telling us how to feel, or leading us on a rote moral path, Into the Woods claims its place as one of the most engaging, provocative, beautiful, and intelligent films I've ever seen. Go watch it, and don't be afraid to get a little lost.

IMDb: Into the Woods

Foxcatcher (2014)

Score: 5 / 5

Foxcatcher was, for me, the most emotionally brutal film of this year. Director Bennett Miller turns his uniquely intense gaze to the already horrific story of the Schultz brothers' interaction with John du Pont. Besides the actual events of their relationship -- culminating in the brutal murder in 1996 -- Miller's film concerns the dynamics of modern American athletes and coaches, sports and their patrons, men and their rivals, men and their friends, determination and pride, perseverance and mental instability, history and fate, and even wealth and status. For a film with a presumably straightforward premise, Miller complicates his presentation with fifty shades of everything. Typical, if you all remember Capote (2005).

Our three leads soar in this, and though their Oscar recognition might come in second to the more accessible, more emotionally rote films this year, their performances rocked my world. Channing Tatum -- whose acting has always worked for me, so I don't know why lots of high-brow-ers refuse to give him much credit -- delivers a knockout work that must be the dramatic peak of his career so far. Deeply introverted, surly and childlike, his movement work for Mark Schultz is so transformative that I forgot I was watching "Magic Mike" and not a real, cauliflower-eared wrestler. Likewise, Steve Carell disappears into his haunting portrayal of John du Pont (only partly due to his incredible makeup) and proves yet again that comedians can indeed excel in weighty drama. Mark Ruffalo, forever the perfect supporting actor in his chameleonlike ability to embody his character and counter the emotional strength of his scene partners, is a wonderful big brother to Tatum and a suitable unwitting antagonist of sorts between Tatum and Carell.

The du Pont estate, palatial and extravagant, provides ample atmosphere for excess and moral decadence as lines become blurred between pride and power. Du Pont seeks glory from his star Mark Schultz (Tatum), and desires his brother Dave (Ruffalo) to join them. Mark is precariously placed between great favor and great disappointment as he pushes himself to excel on his own terms, until his brother caves to du Pont's pressure and joins the team. As much as Mark needs money and craves success, his financially comfortable brother Dave tries to be a family man. But both end up biting du Pont's greenbacked lure and moving in to the vast Foxcatcher estate, where life turns into a continuous training regimen. The lines between coach and father, brother and rival, professional and personal quickly get erased.

We are presented with a uniquely homosocial environment, and Miller does not shy away from a moment of its implications. Wrestling, an especially intimate sport with no shortage of erotic suggestion, is shown in all its complexity without beating us over the head with its technical intricacies (in other words, this isn't your typical sports film that wastes so much time telling you how the sport works in real life). Instead, wrestling in the film becomes more about what it looks and feels like: an uncomfortable, erotic, and violent power play between two men. Outside the gym walls, the relationships between Mark, Dave, and du Pont is almost no different, as du Pont actively points out when he says multiple times that he wants to be more than a coach to his boys. Du Pont, for all his villainous psychopathy, is due some sympathy as we see him wrestle (ha) with a perceived inconsistency between wealth and success and between family heritage and independent pride. Vanessa Redgrave graces a few scenes as the primary vehicle for du Pont's problems, his disappointed mother, who expresses her disdain for the "low sport" and her fierce pride in family heritage over her own son.

I could wax effusive for hours, but don't just take my word for it. Go see it, and don't spend your strength right away -- you'll need it for round three.

IMDb: Foxcatcher

The Hobbit: The Battle of the Five Armies (2014)

Score: 5 / 5

Well, there it is. It's all over. Now, if I can get some of these feels out of my system, we've got a film to analyze. If you haven't seen it yet, I don't recommend that you read any further, because I don't filter myself. Unless you're like me and don't mind spoilers. In that case, let's push on!

My primary problem with The Desolation of Smaug, you may recall, dealt with its dizzying cinematography, its reliance upon computer-generated effects, and its occasionally sloppy editing. I have many of the same issues with this film, but I think because this one is shorter and concerns an outlandish battle as its premise, these elements were more palatable. Indeed, the more I watch Desolation (the Extended Edition, naturally) the more I like it because its added scenes round out the kinetic and sometimes disjointed editing. I expect the same from the Battle of the Five Armies Extended Edition: The theatrical release features distinct moments that feel chopped and poorly strung together, most of which take place in the first hour or so. The incredible effects here are not quite so overwhelming as they were in either of the previous films for me, and I think that's largely due to two factors. First, the drama in this film is much darker than before, and Jackson wisely keeps the drama in all the action shots; rather than silly animation or spectacle for the sake of spectacle, he finally nails a balanced combination of drama and spectacle for the first time in this trilogy. And second, the colors of this film match its tone: Darker and austere, this picture (though still dazzling) rivals some of the more monochromatic visuals of The Two Towers or The Return of the King, and thus the effects feel more comfortable in their environment.

I don't want to spend much time repeating my earlier claims, because most apply to this film as well as the previous two (so go read those posts!). The only new notable member of the cast is Billy Connolly as Dain Ironfoot, and his performance is what it is (more comic relief than heroic entrance). Richard Armitage does some nice work on Thorin, Lee Pace rocks as Thranduil, and Orlando Bloom steals the whole movie as a swashbuckling Legolas. Martin Freeman takes a graceful step back to let the Big Events of this wide world take command of his trilogy, and in doing so he subtly nuances his performance with some of his best moments in the series. A few of the dwarves shine in this, notably Ken Stott (Balin) and Aidan Turner (Kili), and of course Luke Evans (Bard) nails it yet again.

Okay, on to the meaty parts. The film starts with a bit of a messy bang, with no introduction other than a long shot of Lake Town under Erebor's silhouette. Suddenly an inferno breaks out and Peter Jackson starts flexing his muscles for the upcoming climax: Jackson shows twice in this movie his tried-and-true skill for directing utter chaos. Just as I was getting worried that we weren't going to hear Benedict Cumberbatch's bone-chillingly erotic Smaug voice, Bard and the dragon face off in a brief and effective climax that might have belonged in the previous film. A year ago I liked the cliffhanger ending. Having seen the surprisingly short beginning of this film, I wonder if Jackson made the right choice.

That said, the buildup to the Big Battle is comparatively slow and talky, so maybe a fiery start was in fact the right decision. Of course, "slow and talky" for The Hobbit isn't really what it means for your average movie. Jackson moves quite efficiently between elf, dwarf, human, and orc camps to explain the various dynamics of the forthcoming conflict. Legolas and Tauriel go on a little excursion to scout the enemy's army while Thranduil and Bard attempt to negotiate with the increasingly crazed Thorin. Bilbo's brave decision to surrender the Arkenstone to the elves and humans, along with Gandalf's timely arrival, amp up the stakes just in time for the wild climax, which lasts for almost half the movie.

Jackson pulls some really fresh tricks in this installment (which says a lot after the recycled bits of Desolation), besides his typically astounding and excessive special effects. The dramatic lull of the post-inferno pre-battle narrative is juxtaposed with some funky scenes featuring the White Council in Dol Guldur. Happily, we get to see Hugo Weaving and Christopher Lee kicking some major butt, and Cate Blanchett looking possessed and kicking even bigger butt. But the sequence is a little rushed, a problem I suspect will be addressed in the Extended Edition; the editing is just too strange for me to accept as is. The sequence has some really trippy visuals, and I'm not sure I know what's happening half the time, but I guess it looks cool? That said, the scene did get me to back off my soapbox about the whole dead-Ringwraith thing, so I suppose Good call there, Jackson.

But his tricks don't stop there. We see some other creepy, almost psychedelic moments scattered in the picture that I bought simply because they weren't as bizarre as the Dol Guldur stuff. Thorin's "dragon sickness" causes him to have a freaky hallucination of being swallowed in his own gold, and as he rants and raves Bilbo hears the voice of Smaug coming from Thorin's mouth. And of course there's some amazing moments in the battle itself, besides the sheer scope of its visuals. Jackson takes liberties in buttressing the orc armies with trolls, bats, and were-worms (a creature Tolkien vaguely mentioned in canon), but they all make for a battle in which we feel truly anything could happen; and it does, as we even see a man turning into a bear as he falls from the sky. The turning point of the battle occurs as Thorin, Fili, Kili, and Bilbo engage Azog, Bolg, and their captains atop a high overlook. Legolas and Tauriel soon join the fray, and the battle amidst the snow is a spectacle beyond my wildest imaginings. After Thorin has defeated Azog (come on, that's not a spoiler, did you think this was going to end any other way?), we see the pale orc floating beneath the ice and his blood spilling out under a frozen waterfall. It's really breathtaking stuff.

A few elements of the film don't work so well. Alfrid lingers on after the Master's abrupt demise, and his supposed-to-be-funny bits just get annoying after a while. A few minor plot holes kept me from giving my whole heart to the film, and though Howard Shore's score is still lovely, the constantly repeated themes of music became contrived and predictable. But all these weird pieces of the puzzle melted away, for me, when I began to sense Jackson's heart in this movie. A lot of tender moments felt like throwbacks to The Lord of the Rings, complete with greater emotional resonance than anything in Journey or Desolation. In fact, I suspect that if this series were watched in order -- from An Unexpected Journey up through The Return of the King -- then this movie would bridge the gap perfectly in terms of aesthetic and tone, as it darkens the fantasy of Hobbit and leads right in to the emotional powerhouse of Rings.

Well played, Peter Jackson. And thank you.

The Road goes ever on and on

Down from the door where it began.

Now far ahead the Road has gone,

And I must follow, if I can,

Pursuing it with eager feet,

Until it joins some larger way

Where many paths and errands meet.

And whither then? I cannot say.

IMDb: The Hobbit: The Battle of the Five Armies