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 

Harry Potter 5 & 6

Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix (2007)
Score: 4 / 5

After Michael Gambon's involvement as Dumbledore, this movie shows that director David Yates is the second best thing to happen to the Harry Potter franchise. He crafts this film as the series game-changer; as his tagline says, "The Rebellion Begins." Yates ushers us into his fresh storytelling style while cranking up the energy and scope of the film in preparation for the remaining films, all of which are much heavier, broader, and more complex than any we've yet seen. Order of the Phoenix is especially noteworthy because Yates and his team adapt their masterful script from Rowling's largest and talkiest book. Dialogue and pacing are both especially strong in this installment, as is Nicholas Hooper's fabulous score (the Umbridge theme and Weasley twins' theme are sheer magic).

Daniel Radcliffe presents us with his best performance yet as he turns Harry into a real person; intensely psychological, his every moment on screen is taut with his unuttered tension. Harry is finally a man (at fifteen years old, weirdly enough), and Radcliffe owns it by showing us that he can and will succeed as a leading man even after this series. Rupert Grint, meanwhile, takes a graceful and mature step back as Ron in a similarly more human performance. Emma Watson, as ever, is perfect. Matthew Lewis (Neville Longbottom) steps up as a significant ensemble member in his biggest screen time since Sorcerer's Stone. A new addition to the student cast, Evanna Lynch skillfully introduces us to the compassionate and nutty Luna Lovegood.

A revamped cast of adults features a stylized Order of the Phoenix: Natalia Tena and George Harris ably (and briefly) step in as Tonks and Kingsley, respectively. Alan Rickman (Snape), Brendan Gleeson (Moody), Mark Williams and Julie Walters (Arthur and Molly Weasley), and David Thewlis (Lupin) reprise their roles in solid supporting fashion, and all feel firmly connected to their characters as they approach the series conclusion. Gary Oldman happily commands a bit more screen time, and becomes a lovingly paternal Sirius before his end. Helena Bonham Carter shows up as a mad Bellatrix Lestrange, alongside the slippery Jason Isaacs and vicious Ralph Fiennes, in a trio of fabulously wicked baddies. Of course, the real highlight of the film is Imelda Staunton's turn as Rowling's best villain. Staunton and Yates turn Dolores Umbridge from the book's deliciously wicked toad into an unbalanced, power-mad sadist; her absolute takeover of Hogwarts is arguably more horrifying than in the book, and Staunton's skill in layering her character is the stuff of nightmares.

Phoenix drips with intelligence from its opening shot. The beauty of the film lies in its details, from the troll-foot umbrella stand in Grimmauld Place to the dust coating the Hog's Head pub. The thestral design is lovely, the new Patronus charms are great, and the Room of Requirement is exciting. In fact, the whole Dumbledore's Army sequence, from their origin in Hogsmeade right through Christmas and getting caught by Umbridge, steals the film as a celebration of youth, independence, and a maturing sense of rebellion. The phenomenal Ministry of Magic sets are arrestingly beautiful, and together with the Room of Requirement make up the most cinematic sets in the series; thankfully, we will see plenty more of the Ministry.

Yates and his team, in setting up the final Potter films, change the wizarding world aesthetic in several noteworthy ways. My favorite is their tool of narration via newspaper, with a lot of exposition being filtered through a heavily stylized medium that becomes a character in itself. They also draw attention to more awkward humor, akin to that in Prisoner but grounded in real adolescent emotions, and find that it works well because it treats the characters as more realistic and psychological beings. And the dialogue still has great heightened moments: "It's like Hogwarts wants us to fight back," Harry declares upon commencing Dumbledore's Army in the memory of past heroes. "If they could do it, why not us?"

Fewer new costumes are introduced here, and the camerawork is simple but solid, but the film features great lighting. Yates carefully controls the atmosphere primarily through lighting and occasionally picturesque visuals, as we see when Dumbledore intervenes in Trelawney's sacking. Atmosphere reaches an ethereal climax in the Department of Mysteries and the Hall of Prophecy, where Rowling's chillingly realized descriptions become a veritable maze as chaos descends. The entire final fight is gripping, in fact, from the Death Eaters' appearance through Voldemort's departure; my only complaint is that the combatants fly, which is visually mesmerizing but logistically problematic.

A few less-successful elements fall by the wayside, as none are particularly crucial to this story. The broomstick flight to Grimmauld Place flirts with wizarding legality and feels quite foolhardy. And Grawp feels strangely unnecessary, like a last-minute addition; a shame, because the book allows lots of room for discussion about humans, part-humans, and intelligent creatures between its characters' interactions with house-elves, centaurs, werewolves, and giants. Finally, and most troubling, though Dumbledore and Voldemort star in a spectacular duel, their wands connect briefly. Presumably their wands do not share the same core, and it seems unlikely that Dumbledore would magically induce Voldemort's wand to regurgitate its previous spells, so why does this happen? It seems that other spells used in wizards' duels (as we see in subsequent films, too) produce an effect similar to priori incantatem, or at least Yates wants us to think that because he likes the resulting spectacle.

IMDb: The Order of the Phoenix

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince (2009)

Score: 5 / 5

Director David Yates knocks this one out of the park. Most importantly, this film is one of my favorites simply because it reminds us that these kids are kids and that they are still at school; those little details seem to have gotten lost since Prisoner of Azkaban. This is the first time we see a Potions class (besides Snape's introductory lecture in Sorcerer's Stone), and we thankfully see some great Quidditch again. Sadly, we don't see Snape's Defense against the Dark Arts class, but we got a fair hint of it in Prisoner.

The actors get a bit more stylized in this film, rather like in Prisoner. This is their last go at being students -- at being kids -- and they nail it. I cry through the whole movie, mostly due to its hilarious awkwardness. Daniel Radcliffe (Harry) has been quoted as saying this is his own least favorite performance, but from my seat, he continues his leading-man-material streak from Order of the Phoenix with a campy, comic, and ultimately brutal sense of himself as a young man in a changing world. Emma Watson (Hermione) and Rupert Grint (Ron) follow his lead and excel as lovestruck teenagers in the grips of raging hormones. The other students follow suit in similar patterns: Tom Felton's Draco Malfoy is surprisingly subtle, cruel, and sympathetic in turns; Jessie Cave introduces us to Lavender Brown with stunning energy; and Freddie Stroma shows perfect timing and unnervingly erotic screen presence as Cormac McLaggen. Unfortunately, Bonnie Wright (Ginny Weasley) shows us that she doesn't have what it takes to match the creative abilities of her castmates; her toneless delivery and emotional disconnect reach an all-time low in this, her most screen time in the series.

Michael Gambon (Dumbledore) especially steals the film with his gentle compassion and brave desperation, and he achieves an ethereal quality that I can't quite describe but which deserves more praise than it has received. His sudden, funny appearance, under a "Divine Magic" advertisement slogan, starts him on a dynamic journey that unfortunately ends in tear-jerking slow-mo fashion. Jim Broadbent charms us as Horace Slughorn and his fabulous facial expressions. His parties feature a lot of the awkward that makes this film great; the amount of youthful energy in this film makes up for the whole series' efforts to hurry Harry & Co. into adulthood. Alan Rickman's portrayal of Snape reaches a new height here, and his brooding performance conceals far more than it reveals.

Yates views this film differently than his previous installment; Half-Blood Prince features a dreamlike quality that provides a nice contrast to the more youthful, comedic characters. The intensely graded colors and limited palette make the film uniquely sensual, and the killer lighting filtered through hazy air tells a story all on its own. Cinematographer Bruno Delbonnel layers his shots with dazzling complexity, both rich wideshot visuals as well as crystal clear closeups. His visions are precise and calculated, with only one shot per image, highlighting his economical approach to the series' cinematic masterpiece. Nicholas Hooper again knocks his score out of the park.

I still don't particularly like that Yates has his witches and wizards fly (presumably without broomsticks), but the Death Eater attack at the beginning is spectacular, partly due to the trailing black smoke. When Dumbledore Apparates with Harry, we see a subtly dark, very uncomfortable experience; the revised Pensieve similarly feels strange and edgy. Thus we see that the magic Dumbledore happily uses to clean Slughorn's house in "fun" style is not the only kind of magic at work in this world; fitting, because with the introduction of Half-Blood Prince's dangerous invented spells and Voldemort's Horcruxes, we need to recognize the visceral horror Harry must face.

For arguably the series' darkest film yet, this movie is a mine of comedic gems. Dumbledore's softly camped delivery in his first scene, the longshot up the Weasley staircase as everyone wonders passively where Harry may be, and seeing Weasley's Wizard Wheezes only get the ball rolling. The Potions class is flawless, Ron's bout of drug-induced lovesickness (I'm sorry, but I call it his "drunk in love" scene), Aragog's funeral, and Harry's intoxication by Felix Felicis are some hilarious moments. Comedy gracefully subsides, though, in transcendent scenes such as Harry, Snape, and Dumbledore atop the Astronomy Tower, and of course Voldemort's cave.

The Pensieve memories are similarly great, it's just sad (but a wise move for Yates's team) that we see so few of them. Some have criticized the Death Eaters' attack on the Burrow, but it undoubtedly makes the Death Eaters more dangerous and more personal to the film's audience. My main problem with Half-Blood Prince is the lack of a fight at the end; it seems incredible that the Death Eaters could so easily infiltrate Hogwarts and depart. It's not as if Dumbledore would have left the school unguarded, especially knowing as he did that someone was attempting to assassinate him, and we even see McGonagall shooing students from an open courtyard. So how can the Death Eaters get from the Room of Requirement to the Astronomy Tower, the Great Hall, and out onto the grounds before anyone finally confronts them? It is quite unsatisfying, but Harry's duel with Snape somewhat makes up for it.

IMDb: The Half-Blood Prince

Harry Potter 3 & 4

Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban (2004)
Score: 5 / 5

Alfonso Cuarón's sole (and priceless) directorial contribution to the wizarding world of Harry Potter is also one of my favorites in the franchise. His vision is so effective because, while he changes a lot of elements from the previous films, he imbues Prisoner of Azkaban with dynamic artistic identity lacking in Columbus's installments. Cuarón presents a masterclass in the grotesque, featuring campy characters and moments that feel perfect for Rowling's complicated world. But he also allows Harry, Ron, and Hermione -- now firmly in the throes of pubescent angst -- freer reign and has obviously worked with them a lot in perfecting their brave performances.

Besides our young leads, most of the supporting cast perform in a fresh way, changing their approach to one fascinated with the bizarre and uncanny. This, of course, may be most clearly seen in the first twenty minutes (ignoring the silly slip wherein Harry is casting spells at home), from Aunt Marge's freak-show turn and the Dursley household mania to the Knight Bus and its three wacky crew members. At Hogwarts, the melodramatic Fat Lady and even Hagrid (Robbie Coltrane) continue the reminders that Harry's world is not only wondrous and beautiful, but edgy and ambiguous. Alan Rickman fronts the darker side of this film, in his most deliciously sinister Snape performance yet.

Our new Dumbledore, brilliantly brought to life by Michael Gambon, is the best thing to happen to the Harry Potter films. He not only gives a stellar performance, but he perfectly embodies the changes Cuarón seeks to make in the series. Gambon subtly camps his role (which was reportedly offered to Peter O'Toole, Christopher Lee, Ian McKellan, and Richard Attenborough) and emanates much-needed vigor. He is accompanied by a startling and delightful Emma Thompson as the effectively bug-eyed Trelawney. Warwick Davis, as Flitwick, is happily much younger (and sports a disturbingly funny moustache), and directs a choir because he's weird like that. Robert Hardy returns as Cornelius Fudge in a greater capacity and performance than in the previous film. Other new (all excellent) additions include David Thewlis as a sweet and bright Lupin, Gary Oldman as a captivating Sirius Black, and Timothy Spall as a sputtering Peter Pettigrew.

John Williams's score (his last in the franchise) is lovely, as he cleverly alters his own themes into darker, more complex patterns. Jany Temime steps in as a new costumer (and remains for all subsequent films) and thankfully allows the students to wear street clothes on their days off. Their characterizations come through much more clearly, as some even change their uniforms to reflect their attitudes; this holds true for Temime's other costumes, as we see on Stan Shunpike, but Dumbledore's soft purple robes take the prize. Cuarón, known for his eye for visuals and longshots, gives a spectacularly wide lens to highlight the actors' performances and beautiful sets with uninterrupted shots. Fluid camera movements connect dramatically to the story and atmosphere, and travel from old to new sets with infectious energy. Perhaps the greatest new set, the clock tower and its courtyard feature prominently, and the camera emphasizes its thematic power in travelling shots that pass also onto the rickety wooden bridge and stone circle beyond.

The script is especially strong here; though the dialogue occasionally falters, the pacing and dramatic focus are remarkable. Cuarón, known for his expert control of a film's style, loads Prisoner with so much thematic imagery and symbolism that it sometimes feels impossibly complex. The stone circle (a sundial), clock tower, Time-Turner, and musical ticking patterns provoke audiences to ponder the magical mystery of time. References to the Scottish Play also abound, and help connect Rowling's world to the mythology of Britain with grace and style. Before we move on, I want to mention one of the film's most haunting moments of dialogue. The Weasley twins chide Ron for calling Harry "peaky" after falling off his broomstick, and offer to throw him off the Astronomy Tower to see how he'd look; that, of course, is how Dumbledore ultimately meets his end. Even this unintentional moment (as the sixth book had not yet been published) shows how Prisoner's aesthetic of dark humor and gothic camp works.

The creature design elements also work exceptionally well here. Buckbeak is especially well-crafted, as far as movie monsters go. The dementors have received various degrees of criticism, but I really like them. If filmed as per Rowling's description, they would have felt too much like Peter Jackson's Ringwraiths. Instead, Cuarón takes his inspiration from Rowling's descriptions of their effect rather than appearance, and allows us to see them as the witches and wizards do. This sensory presence is infinitely more effective. Similarly, the Shrieking Shack set is incredibly complicated, in its effectively psychedelic movements.

Finally, the last forty minutes are some of my favorite in any film, period; it is by far my favorite werewolf sequence. In a combination of heavily thematic atmosphere, homages to classic horror and fantasy, and terrifyingly excellent filmmaking, the sequence from Hermione punching Draco right through Black's rescue from atop the Dark Tower is perfect. Besides the writers and director, props must be given to the heroic editor here as well. I could go on for days about every moment in this enormous sequence, but I'd like to discuss the werewolf design. Like the dementors, it has received a lot of criticism, but there's no denying its unique, haunting appearance. It seems that its designers were inspired by Rowling's intentions for the character, which for me makes this manifestation superior to her own description in the book. Emaciated and hairless, we see the humanity as well as the monstrosity of Lupin's two sides. Lycanthropy, for Rowling (as she has stated on Pottermore), "was a metaphor for those illnesses that carry a stigma, like HIV and AIDS. All kinds of superstitions seem to surround blood-borne conditions, probably due to taboos surrounding blood itself. The wizarding community is as prone to hysteria and prejudice as the Muggle one, and the character of Lupin gave me a chance to examine those attitudes."

IMDb: The Prisoner of Azkaban

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire (2005)

Score: 3 / 5

The fourth installment in the film series is not as successful as the previous films largely because of its incoherence as a holistic work. While it has valuable high points, its dangerously unbalanced direction and sprawling script make it feel like a picture made by young fans seeking thrills and style over drama and substance. Stylizing your film only works if you pay proper respect and attention to the story you're telling.

The acting in this film similarly has high and low points. Radcliffe and Watson score well as they gracefully age into Harry and Hermione's maturing bodies and stretch their young adult wings even farther than in Prisoner. Mike Williams remains a solid Arthur Weasley, and Jason Isaacs returns as a slippery Lucious Malfoy. We have the great Brendan Gleeson as a moody Moody (though his metallic costume and blond, scraggly hair leave something to be desired). And best of all, we see the dawn of Ralph Fiennes's reign as a show-stealing Voldemort, easing into his newly reborn body with incredible movement work.

Most of the supporting cast gives in to melodrama in this film; even the main cast does, but to a smaller degree. It could have worked well had director Mike Newell designed the film as operatic or even farcical, but he allows just too much heart and subtlety (and significant sentiment, unfortunately) for that to be the case. Igor Karkaroff, Amos Diggory, and Barty Crouch are perhaps the most extreme examples, and their performances are notably overwrought. To a lesser degree, Rita Skeeter (Miranda Richardson, who is quite successful, if brief), Viktor Krum, and Fleur Delacour also ham it up. It's a partially successful (and quite brave) move on Newell's part, but the imbalance overthrows any cumulative effect. David Tennant is almost insensitively demonizing in his portrayal of an apparently mentally unstable Barty Crouch Junior; rather than chilling or even sad, he creates an inhuman monster that feels outrageously out of place and obnoxiously stereotyped.

Beyond specific characters, attention should also be drawn to the sexualization of teenagers in this film. While I applaud the notion of portraying the teenage witch or wizard body as a turning point in adolescent desire, Newell force-feeds us a heteronormative, hypersexualized range of student bodies (that by my reckoning should mostly be fourteen years old). And rather than making these sexual images funny or somehow relevant to the story, Newell simply sexualizes characters to make them more titillating for young audiences. Durmstrang and Beauxbatons are turned from normal (well, magical) schools into hotbeds of sex-segregated hormones. Apparently only hunky, dark-haired, and thickly-accented men can attend the former, and only skinny white girls with blue skirts, French accents, and a butt-jiggling attitude can attend the latter. Rowling's world is wonderful because its culture is such that individuality is admired; Newell presents us with a world too like our own, with conformity as the social standard.

The camera here reveals great visuals and an aggressively dark color palette, but fast shots with sometimes little connection make the film feel like a video game on more than one occasion. There are also several totally unnecessary sequences in the film. The first and second Triwizard tasks are woefully overwrought, with the dragon chase and grindylow attack acting solely as busied spectacle. Other small moments, like Dumbledore's candy that attacks Harry, just don't make sense; though Newell's team rightly cut away excess subplots from Rowling's book, he wasted precious time dwelling on these fruitless moments rather than enhancing the drama of the most mystery-oriented novel.

But Goblet has its virtues as well. The World Cup, a sequence I for one would have had trouble refining to its meat, is handled quite well, boiled to its basic components while serving to orient the audience to a new adventure. We finally see the owlery, as well as the Dumbledore's Pensieve, both well-designed. Dumbledore's scenes in general draw my attention because their dialogue hints at drama and tension lurking beyond what we see, and even into the future of the series. The Yule Ball is perfect, visually entrancing and elegant. Hermione's dress is a showstopping moment, and the glory of a festooned Great Hall is wondrous to behold. From McGonagall teaching Ron how to dance to Hermione's teary perch on the staircase, the sequence is a beautiful centerpiece to the film. The loveliness continues with Hermione and Harry on the wooden bridge before the second task, with emotional connection, closeup shots, and dialogue. Finally, the third task -- the maze -- is impeccable. Its design brings the strongest thematic element to the movie (besides the graveyard scene, of course), so much so that it feels like a product of Cuarón's film. In fact, I like the maze so much that I consider it an improvement on the source material.

IMDb: The Goblet of Fire