Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)

Score: 3.5 / 5

After a heavy Oscar season (as usual), it's nice to have some "fun" movies to go see. Of course, that usually means they're pretty bad, too. January and February notoriously have little to offer -- besides post-awards-season screenings and re-shows of the winners -- but every once in a while we get a real treat.

Kingsman: The Secret Service is just about everything it claimed to be: a spy/action/comedy film that thoroughly owns its pulpy, meta material. Not unlike the first Die Hard in that respect, this film rather concerns the coming of age of a young British man into a secret society of do-gooders. But it's not this basic, familiar plot that makes the film so enjoyable.

Stylish and subversive, the film follows director Matthew Vaughn's kinetic energy much like we might see in a graphic novel. Sharp color contrast and crystal clear images shine through both sped-up and slowed-down action sequences, which are used alternately by Vaughn to establish an atmosphere of simple Fun. The actors are dressed in gorgeous outfits that play to their idiosyncracies (Jackson's fifty shades of the same color are hilarious) while highlighting the ironic and classy disconnect between their posh appearance and violent behavior. Vaughn's screenplay, co-written with Jane Goldman, ties these elements together with lots of self-aware dialogue, ironic twists, disturbing implications, and surprisingly intelligent self-revelations. And, frankly, the main Sinister Plot is smarter and more engaging than many self-involved spy thrillers, probably because it doesn't take itself too seriously.

I have little else to say about this movie. It's fun, and it's actually quite good at being fun. In that way, I would almost compare it to Scream, in that it takes spy movie tropes (in a fairly tired genre) and puts a new spin on them: young people become plausible protagonists, comedy perfectly counters the more weighty plot devices, and a cast of familiar actors dive together into an adrenaline-rush of action. Why wouldn't you want to see gentleman Colin Firth whooping ass in a hate-mongering church? Why wouldn't you want to see Samuel L. Jackson as a foul-mouthed megalomaniac with a lisp? Why wouldn't you want to see ridiculously attractive British spies in fabulous costumes fighting, swearing, and learning proper manners?

For a late-winter action movie, you could do a hell of a lot worse.

IMDb: Kingsman

Jupiter Ascending (2015)

Score: 3 / 5

Science fiction has hit a bit of a roadblock in the last two decades. Nobody really seems to know what it is anymore, in our culture of radically evolving technology, and so most of the mainstream sci-fi flicks have done little more than adapt and expand older franchises. Think of Alien, War of the Worlds, even Star Wars. These may be the staples of the genre, but they have also become the go-to narratives for sci-fi, and so the genre has become conflated with horror, adventure, and even fantasy to such an extent that "sci-fi" as a category can really only be found now in independent films. Sometimes.

Jupiter Ascending is no different. The Wachowskis' newest enterprise feels like a bizarre mash-up of Star Wars concepts and Matrix style, and it flies along at a breathless clip from fight to fight to climactic fight. Its premise is a tad too familiar: sad, hardworking girl is targeted by assassins, hunky hero comes to save her and reveals her true royal identity, and together they fight a vague evil ruler to reclaim the throne and fall in love along the way. Now please excuse me while I gag.

AND YET -- I really liked this movie. Why? Despite its shortcomings in plot and dialogue, its visuals are some of the most striking and beautiful I've seen from a mainstream adventure in years. The costumes are incredible. And (!) the cast: Mila Kunis, Channing Tatum, Eddie Redmayne, Sean Bean. Why wouldn't you want to see a bunch of sexies camping up the galaxy and generally being badass? Oh, and I guess it would be worthwhile to mention that, for how much she is objectified through the film (and by the camera), our heroine also asserts herself as a strong, articulate, and intelligent woman without losing her femininity or sex appeal. That's a tough balance to strike, if we look at the history of female leads in this type of film.

That's really about all I can say about the movie. It's not the smartest adventure we'll see this year, and it doesn't have the bright colors of a Marvel Studios picture. But it has a specific brand of comedy -- a sort of pure entertainment -- that stops it from ever getting dark and morbid. And if you allow the pulsing energy to guide you over the faulty logic and vagaries of the script, I promise you'll walk out smiling. Which, if we're being honest, is also a rarity among our millennial sci-fi adventures.

IMDb: Jupiter Ascending

The Grand Budapest Hotel (2014)

Score: 5 / 5

Wes Anderson is a unique and fascinating visionary, and this film is certainly his best yet. It would be remiss of me to note that his style is not for everyone -- and that even after a certain point in any of his films I've had about enough -- but his incredible aesthetic and sense of pace in this particular production are pure genius. Shall we check into the hotel, then?

Anderson's greatest strength, in my opinion, lies in his ability to amass an irresistible cast and then turn them loose in a surreal/hyperreal/[insert descriptor] environment. This film alone boasts an enormous ensemble including Adrien Brody, Williem Dafoe, Jude Law, Tilda Swinton, Jeff Goldblum, Tom Wilkinson, Saoirse Ronan, Harvey Keitel, Edward Norton, Jason Schwartzman, F. Murray Abraham, Mathieu Almaric, Bill Murray, Bob Balaban, and Owen Wilson. I mean, honestly. And then there's our leads. Ralph Fiennes in yet another character role, and the young (and, to me, totally unfamiliar) Tony Revolori. These two men balance each other flawlessly, and their volleyed energy is both captivating and endlessly entertaining.

Our story concerns a devoted concierge Gustave (Fiennes) who runs the fabulous titular hotel. His service includes special attention to the intimate desires of aging women, one of whom (Swinton) mysteriously dies and leaves to him a valuable painting. After Gustave steals the lady's painting, her furious family (Brody) hires an assassin (Dafoe) to track it down and eliminate rival heirs. Meanwhile, Gustave is arrested under suspicion of murder and escapes jail with help of his protégé lobby boy, Zero (Revolori). The two team up to prove Gustave's innocence, which of course happens after many chases and shootouts.

The plot can get a bit thick, but the film doesn't much count on the plot to carry it. It also doesn't do much for character; to be sure, Gustave and Zero are wonderfully realized, but the remaining characters are loose archetypes intended for comic revelation, and often rely on the actor's celebrity or aesthetic résumé. Instead, Anderson gives us so many visual pleasures in each frame that the whole film becomes a sinfully rich buffet of images. He divides time periods with different aspect ratios, and transitions between miniatures, sets, and effects with intoxicating ease. The intense complexity of visuals in this film mirrors (and arguably glosses over) the great thematic depths to which the film dives. Its sharp wit centers on a narrative of unlikely friendship and personal redemption, framed against an atmosphere of change and unrest (as the fictional setting is seen to be an isolated European mountainside in the years between the World Wars). Anderson uses a pseudo-farcical caper as a vehicle to carry our leading men on a journey that ultimately legitimizes their daily efforts in service of their occupation. I was most satisfied, though, with the frame story, in which we see a larger context for the adventures of Gustave, including the effects of war and poverty and the importance of having one's story told, especially if that is your primary legacy. The last shot is a powerful punch on that front.

IMDb: The Grand Budapest Hotel

A Most Violent Year (2014)

Score: 5 / 5

Easily the most undeservedly understated film this year, I am convinced that A Most Violent Year is also one of the best. Perhaps its late release resulted in its being almost entirely ignored by the awards circuit, but then we all know how much that actually means. Just think of all the truly amazing -- and awards-snubbed -- films just last year: Enemy, Under the Skin, Locke, Love is Strange, Snowpiercer, Only Lovers Left Alive, and many others. Besides the otherwise familiar romantic drama Love is Strange, these films aggressively bend genre conventions and even filmmaking techniques, resulting in abstract, experimental film less approachable by Academy voters. So why do I push A Most Violent Year into their company?

A Most Violent Year follows the odd but welcome strain of crime dramas and neo-noir/art films of this past year, including A Most Wanted Man, A Walk Among the Tombstones, and The Drop. It also continues this year's seemingly universal cinematic meditation on moral compromise and, well, fifty shades of gray-area ethics. (Stay tuned for more on that, in my pre-Oscar post. Forthcoming.)

This film concerns a young business man (Oscar Isaac) -- aptly named Abel Morales, in full artistic/allegorical significance -- who seeks expansion and security. His product, fuel oil, is a hot commodity in 1981 New York, and his truck drivers are subjected to attacks from hijacking competitors, and a district attorney (David Oyelowo) targets his business for intense scrutiny. Meanwhile, the Morales household is tested repeatedly by both gangsters and cops, resulting in Abel's wife, Anna (Jessica Chastain), taking matters into her own hands. So now let's talk about why I'm crazy about this picture.

EW's Esther Zuckerman said it best: "History will remember it [because...] the film will stand as evidence of major talents whose careers are still on the upswing". Leading is Oscar Isaac, a personal favorite, whose successes haven't been much recognized (remember Inside Llewyn Davis?) perhaps because his greatest talent lies in his ability to restrain and nuance a performance. Isaac flawlessly gives his character a powerhouse journey through being a husband, father, and successful business leader. He carries his paternal strength into the workplace and makes an otherwise dirty and dangerous job profoundly intimate and validating. The film is worth watching just for his performance (but also everything else). Because he's so wonderful, please take some time to get to know him before he becomes a mainstream sensation in this year's Star Wars: Episode VII and X-Men: Apocalypse. Good starting places might be The Nativity Story (2006), Won't Back Down (2012), or The Two Faces of January (2014).

Following his lead and matching him at every turn is Jessica Chastain, easily one of the most versatile  and prolific actresses of the last five years: Coriolanus (2011), The Help (2011), Lawless (2012), Zero Dark Thirty (2012), Mama (2013), Salome (2013...okay, I haven't seen it yet, but I am actively hunting for it!), Interstellar (2014), and the forthcoming (or, should I say, selectively released) The Disappearance of Eleanor Rigby. Sorry about the lists, but I'm crazy about these people. Chastain transforms her chameleonic self yet again into a bizarre character who desperately seeks strength in a world that will not permit it. She seeks social power by throwing a party, only to have it ripped from her by a police raid; she seeks personal security by keeping a gun handy, only to use it to put a deer out of its misery. She plays into an older, almost campy, type of leading woman, allowing her costume (and veritable fingernail-talons) to become an extension of her while she perfectly owns the tricky accent and dutiful housewife/co-conspirator role. She is a marvel.

Director and writer J.C. Chandor -- Margin Call (2011), All is Lost (2013) -- is, for me, perhaps the most promising director of the last three years because he has only directed three feature films, and each has been an utter success. Each has also, and more importantly, been radically different from the others. Chandor hasn't established a distinct style of filmmaking, which for me makes him a more intriguing director and one with undeniable artistic integrity. He films A Most Violent Year with attention to delicate emotional beats and a rhythmic visual pulse that mirrors his beautiful dialogue. His style is augmented with the stunning costumes: fitted, clean suits and coats, coats, COATS. Cinematographer Bradford Young (also unrecognized for his killer work in this year's Selma) keeps things hopping in an otherwise slow, taut drama, and works to shade the screen into subtle dusk. Chandor and Young work together to make the film dark, seductive, and meditative, with through-lines of razor-sharp wit and cruel tension. It is, truly, a most brutal viewing experience.

IMDb: A Most Violent Year

Cake (2014)

Score: 4.5 / 5

I was not expecting much sweet stuff from Cake. I haven't seen Jennifer Aniston do much, so I have no real opinion of her, and this film looked mostly like an award-grasping vehicle. But after her Golden Globe nomination, I thought I'd give it a go. And holy crap, I was wrong.

To be sure, the film works almost entirely because of Aniston's performance. She is Claire, an apparently kind, clever, and successful woman who has survived a car accident. Her son, however, did not survive, and Claire is left severely scarred and in chronic pain. Aniston poignantly and not-so-gently embodies the pain and bitterness of her character, both in her amazing physical work and in her desperate struggle to reconcile her past with her future. In fact, I would consider her journey to be not unlike that of the bereaved parents in David Lindsay-Abaire's Rabbit Hole. But I won't describe much of the movie here, because it's quite long and involved. Just take my word that it's an engaging, intelligent, and occasionally funny "story", if you're one of those people who obsess over plot.

Cake features a most unlikely cast, and yet the actors work in remarkable unity. Adriana Barraza skillfully mirrors Aniston's every move, though her character Silvana, Claire's hired help, is almost Claire's opposite: kind, motherly, affectionate, and fiercely loyal, even when she is obliged to help her boss smuggle drugs. The rest of the cast only appears in passing, but each performs with such strength in their few scenes that they balance the film's focus on Aniston. Felicity Huffman hilariously plays the support group's leader, William H. Macy pops in as the other party in the Accident, and Anna Kendrick plays the funny/creepy ghost of another woman in Claire's support group who committed suicide. The real treasures in this incredible ensemble are Chris Messina and Sam Worthington, who gently provide a male presence in the film and a romantic motivation for Claire.

The rest of the film isn't particularly novel in content, but it has several important stylistic and thematic characteristics. Director Daniel Barnz (Won't Back Down, 2012), of whom I expect even more great things in years to come, trains his focus on Aniston in moments of quiet isolation, giving Aniston the time to perfect her performance. These moments are contrasted sharply with her carefully guarded social presence: We see her acerbic aggression in the first scene, wherein she harnesses intense gallows humor to mock the group. In this way, Barnz works seamlessly with writer Patrick Tobin to craft a film with remarkably little "comfort" or sentimentality; instead, we get a clear, brutal picture of a life (of privilege, to be sure) plagued by pain and loneliness. One of the most shocking -- and, I think, timely -- moments happens as Claire is attempting therapy. After Claire yells, curses, and gives up, her trainer asks her if she even truly wants to get better. That moment felt like a great centerpiece to the film, wherein Claire recognizes that her identity has become this wounded, scarred shell of a woman, dictated by pain and painkillers and devoid of joy, love, or even hope.

Perhaps the greatest evidence of the filmmaker's intelligence is not allowing Aniston an "Oscar scene" of great weeping, shouts, and revelation. In fact, Barnz carefully allows Aniston the freedom to create a holistic performance, by which I mean that in watching the film I felt more like I was watching a stage play. Whether by some magic of the editors, the director, or the actor herself, we get a clear, unobstructed view of Claire through her tumultuous journey and achieve a certain release with her at the end.

IMDb: Cake

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