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

Exodus: Gods and Kings (2014)

Score: 2.5 / 5

People seem determined to compare this film with others, so I guess I'll start by sharing my own thoughts on that front. DeMille's The Ten Commandments (1956) is the obvious comparison point, but I'm not sure there is any comparison. Each fails in its own way, and each succeeds in others. One was made with enormous scope and became a classic largely because of elements that are not pure artwork, and the other wants desperately to repeat this and fails largely due to bad writing, heavy effects, and bad direction. In short, one is a dramatic masterpiece, and the other a dramatic black hole. Ridley Scott's own success story, Gladiator (2000), also comes to mind because it felt not unlike Ten Commandments when it came out. Russell Crowe channeled Charlton Heston as the heroic man who, unsurprisingly, becomes a hero. But where Gladiator rocked with its focus on an actor's strong performance, Exodus falters by largely ignoring anyone's acting. Finally, Exodus just isn't as much fun as this year's other biblical attempt-at-an-epic, Noah; at least Darren Aronofsky knew to put his tongue in his cheek when he had giant rock monsters help Russell Crowe do Big Important Things.

Now let's focus on this picture, and explore my claims. Moses, played by a stoic Christian Bale, is so underwritten and underperformed that I never felt a twinge of sympathy for him. He's a hardheaded man who likes to flex his muscles and look grumpy. God in the film is portrayed by a little boy (actually I think the boy was an angel, not God himself), which I kind of liked at first. But then he starts popping up at odd times, which is obnoxious, and nobody else can see him, which makes Moses look crazy at times: It is an inspired choice for the character I really liked, but both Scott and Bale ignore its implications. As a boy, God (or whoever he is) is a match for Christian Bale in grumpiness and angst. I suppose that works well enough with the God of the Old Testament (he's a jerk, let's face it; he only cares about one people group at the expense of countless others, and he pushes people to do impossible things and then punishes them for failing), but it feels funky and contrived in this film. Joel Edgerton plays Ramesses with possibly the only good performance in the movie; his character is complex, and he performs with both nuance and strength as the primary villain, and won my sympathies which is probably not Scott's intent. The rest of the cast is largely irrelevant. John Turturro shows some notable acting strength as the Pharaoh, but he dies before long. Sigourney Weaver, Aaron Paul, and Ben Kingsley pop in for a few scenes, but are largely ignored for some tragic reason.

Large sets (both digital and practical) and beautiful, extravagant costumes steal the film. Unfortunately, the characters that inhabit this world have no development and almost no drama, and so the stunning visuals lose almost all of their significance. The dialogue is poor, and the script's pacing is severely uneven. And though there are moments of great special visual effects, they are empty because we don't care about anyone in the shots. I had more sympathy for the masses being tortured by the plagues than for Moses himself. Scott seems to have forgotten that an epic is not made simply by huge visual scope, even with heavily graded picture.

No, this movie does not stick strictly to the biblical narrative, so let's just nip that in the bud. It's an adaptation, people -- we've had this discussion before. But as its own narrative, Exodus doesn't work well. Poor dialogue and severely uneven pacing reveal a weak script that wanted to be an epic; it's one thing to criticize a film for its problems, but when you gauge its failure of reaching its own aspirations, the whole thing quickly becomes pitiful. The beginning starts with an attempted bang, but since the details of the battle are left ambiguous at best, all we can take away from it is an idea that the Egyptians are fierce in battle. And the buildup to Moses's mountaintop revelation is woefully unclear; one scene has him denying his Hebrew blood, and literally the next scene has him hugging his mother and sister before walking away in exile. Even having read the story for most of my life, I wasn't sure what was happening before my eyes. It's just sloppy filmmaking. And then the ending sort of fizzles out into a downright silly post-climax couple of minutes. Instead of attending to the now-free nation of Israelites, we see Moses carving the Ten Commandments above a vague shot of a golden calf, none of which is explained. Then we see him return to his wife, talking about how much he loves her. What a waste of cinema.

That said, there are exceptional high points in the movie. Honestly, the lengthy sequence in the middle of the film when plagues assault Egypt is one of the most engaging bits of film I've seen this year. Exciting and enormous, the plagues are shown with a kinetic energy not unlike that in those huge domino art experiments. Scott shows them not necessarily with scientific accuracy (if there is any), but he does seem to play with the idea that if these horrific events were to take place, this might be what they'd look like. The plagues are no less miraculous, as some have claimed, as a result of this, but they do make more sense in the realm of reality. The crocodile attack (which results in the Nile running red with blood) is just wonderful, too, but maybe I love those beasties too much. Similarly, the parting of the Red Sea is a really beautiful scene, and it feels more grounded and realistic than any other version of the story I've seen (remember the walls of water in The Prince of Egypt, with the silhouettes of fish looming over the Israelites? That happened.).

A final thought. People like to talk about whitewashing because it makes them feel smart and edgy. But I do think that here it has some merit, not just because the characters are whiter than chalk under their heavy makeup, but because their accents are all over the place. We have generic British, attempted generic British, Bale's American with occasional generic Britishisms, and vague attempts at a vague ethnic accent that could be just about anything. Not acceptable, Scott. When we have had a mainstream film of Christ's death done entirely in authentic languages, there is no excuse for this kind of uninformed blundering.

IMDb: Exodus: Gods and Kings

The Theory of Everything (2014)

Score: 5 / 5

Maybe a 5 is a bit high, but I was too surprised and pleased with this movie to go much lower. As a biopic, it's exceptional. As a romance, it's phenomenal. And as a thematic exercise, it's a masterpiece.
In short, The Theory of Everything is everything.

Eddie Redmayne is transcendent as our celebrated theorist and physicist. After the first few scenes, I completely forgot that it was Redmayne and not Stephen Hawking himself on screen. Redmayne's physical work is truly incredible; even while I was watching it, I had difficulty holding back tears as his motor neuron disease progressed, so convincing was his performed loss-of-control. Felicity Jones counters Redmayne's every move as his astoundingly brave and loving wife, complete with personal moments of fear, doubt, and revelation.

Besides the stellar acting, the film surprised me in its fresh and complicated romance. This movie is first and foremost a love story, and it is most extraordinary for not being a tragedy. Though Hawking's disease might make this seem to have a wrote ending (I didn't even watch The Fault in Our Stars for that reason), it repeatedly counters that narrative. Though Jane (Felicity Jones) ultimately separates from Hawking, it is apparently a mutual decision and one that ultimately increases the love between several people.

And I said above that this is a love story: Besides the expected monogamous, hetero relationship, the love story also comes from the community. Time and again we see Hawking's friends, teachers, family, and even strangers show amazing love and generosity to each other. That's a really unusual spin for a modern drama. At one point, Hawking's old school friends are partying with him, and when they come to a large flight of stairs, one of the friends almost effortlessly picks him up and carries him, without any obligation or resentment, and continues an intimate conversation while walking. It's so beautiful, I sobbed (something I did about every other scene). Charlie Cox enters as Jane's future love interest, but rather than vying for attention or romance, his character humbles himself to become essentially Hawking's maid, caring for him and providing support for his family. It's a shockingly fresh and beautiful take on a very complicated relationship. David Thewlis, Emily Watson, and Simon McBurney round out the supporting cast with charm and grace.

Director James Marsh controls the film with striking and haunting emotional beats, forcing us to watch characters make impossible choices and struggle with their romantic desires. I smiled so much in this movie that my face hurt halfway through, because we get every single nuance of flirtation, affection, and passion. That's also partly due to the articulate and reserved script (Anthony McCarten) and the vibrant colors and intimate close-ups (Benoit Delhomme, 1408, A Most Wanted Man).

Do yourself a favor and go see this one. It's a profound look at love, life, and the people around us. It will make you cry, but I promise, the tears come from a place of light and joy.

IMDb: The Theory of Everything

Peter Pan Live! (2014)

Score: 3 / 5

I'm not going to deny that Peter Pan is one of my weak spots as a result of its vibrant feel-good energy. It's got rousing, youthful numbers, a sometimes overwhelming bent toward wonder and awe, clever lyrics and sharp, campy wit, and even a few sweet moments that pull at your heart. But NBC's latest televised broadcast of an iconic musical was not all romp and joy; while it avoided some of the major pitfalls of last year's Sound of Music, this production featured some exceptional high points as well as serious problem-spots. Before we start: I will not be comparing this to other productions in the past, so don't expect that. Cathy Rigby's production is, for me, utterly perfect. Oh, and a lot of people are complaining that the acting in this show isn't very convincing, but just so you know, the point of Peter Pan is that it is fantastic and even farcical, so nuance isn't really called for. Stop bellyaching. Okay, let's go.

Starting with the cast. Allison Williams looked to be a very convincing, handsome fairy-boy, but even her bleach-white teeth couldn't entirely mask her shortcomings in musical theatre. Apparently unable to hold a note for much time, and performing almost no dancing (I thought she was playing an energetic boy?), Williams failed to steal my heart as cleanly as she did the wide-eyed and disturbingly desperate Wendy Darling (Taylor Louderman). I was especially disappointed that her woeful accent faltered more often than the slow (and very visible) wires used to carry her overhead, and her crow was just laughable.

Christopher Walken, on the other hand, rocked as Captain Hook, though part of his success was purely a result of his casting. Nuanced and campy, Walken also at times appeared to forget (or not care) that he was being broadcast, like when he opened his mouth to hold an obviously dubbed long note about four beats after it had already started. He charmed with his tapdancing prowess, and even when he broke character to speak lines in his typical Queens-ish accent. Besides his Chola eyebrows and monstrous beauty mark, Walken's costume and mannerisms made Hook at times seem to be an aged, bitter drag queen, a decision I would applaud if it were intentional.

I was very happy to see Kelli O'Hara and Minnie Driver pop in for some bonus star power. O'Hara nailed her stuff, no surprise there, and Driver pushed some waterworks in her roughly three minutes on stage/screen. The rest of the cast felt skilled and energetic, notably the dancing ensembles of pirates, lost boys, and natives. Christian Borle especially stole my attention in his dual role as Smee and Mr Darling. I have to say, though, that the design of the natives and the lost boys didn't work so well. Though the natives arguably were dressed in more authentic garb (that is, bare skin), their paint was just weird, and the costumes had some funky turquoise colors that fit well with the set, for better or worse. And the lost boys looked like almost-neon last-century German schoolchildren, complete with fetishized twinkiness. Sorry, but it happened.

Two elements of this production struck me as shockingly excellent. First, the psychedelic sets were huge and radiant, feeling like the other recently realized fantasy realms of Oz or Wonderland. I don't think the lights always played off it the best, and the camerawork could have been better at times (we rather missed Hook's attack on Peter, which made the latter's forced "To die will be an awfully big adventure" fall flat, and then Tiger Lily popped up like a mile away in what looked more like a prayer than a rescue attempt), but the set itself was gorgeous. Second, the changes to lyrics and dialogue made me very happy. Mrs Darling's added lullaby at the beginning made "Distant Melody" much more powerful later (and though I wanted more Kelli O'Hara, I was sad that Peter did not sing the duet with Wendy). Hook's tapdancing number and Peter's sung memory of running away also shone.

But a few new moments didn't work as well. My first disappointment was that Tink wasn't a real light on stage, but that's just my little stubborn preference. Hook's plot to bomb the island and thus break Peter's heart just sort of disappears without explanation. Why include the threat if you're not going to follow through? Chekhov's Gun, yo! We could have at least had Hook use the bomb at the last minute, as a final damning threat against the lot of lost boys (Cathy Rigby's production did this, and they didn't even go through the charade of painting red Xes all over Neverland). Oh, and the little addition of Wendy and Peter finding the "dozing" maid in the closet who appears dead. That was a thing. And nobody knows why.

Before we're done, we have to address the white elephant here. Or at least the white. Because the "Indians" have always been the most controversial part of Peter Pan in any of its incarnations. Disney perhaps depicted the most racist stereotypes (reducing a skin color to a tale of a man blushing from a woman's kiss while pointedly coloring the natives' skin tomato-red), but they have been present in the stage musical, too. "Ugg-a-Wugg" may be the show's most rousing number, but it is also not-so-subtly telling us that Native American languages are made up of absurd vocal patterns and children's rhymes (not to mention that the lyrics call Tiger Lily a "brave noble redskin"). Besides this positive change, though, it seemed like NBC employed a little overkill in racial diversity by casting an ethnically mixed group of Natives, which is totally fine, until you notice the almost ubiquitous whiteness of the rest of the cast, especially the lost boys.

I applaud the effort to change this to reclaim adulterated and mocked cultural territory. I also don't entirely know that this production was the only step to that end. It's tricky stuff, because while I would love to see an authentic Native presence on stage, I don't know that it can be in any Peter Pan adaptation because J.M. Barrie's own writings were deeply racist. Wow, that went around a rabbit trail. Point Being: This production was blessedly less offensive, so there's that.

IMDb: Peter Pan Live!

The Book Thief (2013)

Score: 4.5 / 5

I finally saw this war drama, which I don't think had a wide theatrical release, and fell madly in love. It's not what I expected, and it's not really an original landmark, but it's really, truly lovely. Especially notable is John Williams's score, which skillfully heightens the drama without drawing much attention to itself (a feat John Williams has not been able to do in his frequent Spielberg collaborations).

We follow young Liesel (Sophie Nelisse), adopted into a German family as the Nazis rise to power. Over the course of four years, she learns fear, bravery, and love through her experiences, and, perhaps most importantly, she learns to read. Taught by her foster father (Geoffrey Rush), she actively learns to read and write on her basement walls before creatively spinning tales of her own to comfort the shaken community during air raids. Though integrated into the Hitler Youth, Liesel remains curious and open-minded: She deliberately reads books after seeing the Nazis burn them, and she quickly befriends and protects Max, a Jewish refugee hiding in her home.

I have several reasons for liking this film, and most of them are purely reactionary. By that, I mean I don't have a lot of high-brow Thoughts about The Book Thief, because it is almost shockingly simple and sweet in its delivery. It seems to have no grand delusions of its own importance (which makes it profoundly important, I might add), and indeed it often feels like a child's fantasy. Gentle and even whimsical, the film runs to a slow pace and a palpable heartbeat. That's not to say it is trivial or unsentimental; it is certainly weighted with its thematic content and the contexts of racial, gendered, political, social, and intellectual oppression of Nazi Germany. One of the main discussion points for me is the voice-over narrator (Roger Allam), who represents Death. This is a fantastic concept, a relatively original cinematic device, and a complicated rhetorical move in an otherwise optimistic film, all wrapped up into one.

Though danger and death threaten our protagonists at every turn, nothing seems to quench Liesel's hope, which sometimes makes this film feel a bit like a re-imagining of Anne Frank's famous narrative. Indeed, Liesel's ultimate penning of a diary makes the film more of a comedy in the traditional sense of the word (in which the plot is generally hopeful, or "upward", rather than "downward", as in a tragedy). The greatest warmth and charm of the film are provided by Geoffrey Rush in his typical brilliance, though his character's wife (played perfectly by Emily Watson) brings her own big-hearted presence to the tale.

Director Roger Allam, though, deserves the most credit for this venture. His undeterred efforts to make the film hopeful and warm pay off magnificently in just about every scene. He smartly shows us an awful possibility -- hints at the worst of what we could imagine -- and then allows his characters to persevere, which makes the results of each scene almost as shocking as the horrors we might otherwise expect, but in a positive way. Make no mistake, this is a wartime drama. But there is very little violence, no battle sequence, and even the deaths of main characters (I'm really not spoiling anything, I promise) aren't really devastating. All in all, The Book Thief is one of the most unpredictable dramas I've ever seen, and its sentimental heart never succumbs to melodrama. It's just beautiful.

IMDb: The Book Thief

Mockingjay: Part One (2014)

Score: 4.5 / 5

Okay, I've never really been on the whole Hunger Games wagon. Don't get me wrong, I like them quite a lot. But the aggressive, vocal fanbase has often put me off. I finally got to read the first two books, and they're fine, and I thoroughly liked the previous two films. This one feels different, though, and I very much enjoyed it. Director Francis Lawrence (I Am Legend, Water for Elephants, Catching Fire) slowly builds up to its climax, which for me is the last, I don't know, ten minutes, and I eagerly anticipate the final film as a result. I'm glad Lawrence is directing both parts of Mockingjay, because it lets me hope that he will balance out a doubtlessly thrilling conclusion to this series.

In case you, like me, were wondering where this franchise was going, be prepared for a surprise. Because suddenly the dystopian world of Panem isn't divided into an evil empire and righteous rebels (yes, I am thinking about Star Wars), but a chaotic, war-torn country with virtues and vices all around. With Mockingjay, we are thrust headfirst into a gray area (and no, I'm not just talking about their jumpsuits) where plans and actions and intentions are all dangerous gambles with dire consequences. This film explores themes of the influential (and misleading) power of media, suggests ideas of guerrilla warfare and terrorism, and the ultimate costs of war. It's a powerful meditation on these things, even more so than The Hunger Games or Catching Fire due to its slower pace.

This film is nowhere near as action-centric as the previous films. Moody and broody, we get a lot of closeups on Katniss to see the effects that war horrors have on her. We see her desolate homeland, her hopeless countrymen, and her tortured love Peeta, but more importantly, we see the effects they have on her. She isn't just the firebrand the rebels want her to be, because she also feels the burn from that flame. I was a little upset, at first, that this film isn't remotely as exciting as Catching Fire, but I think that's because we need a little break to cement and explore our relationships to these characters before letting all hell break loose in the final installment. And that's not to say Mockingjay is without its tense scenes: The Capitol bombs a hospital at one point, and near the end of the film a small team infiltrates the Capitol to rescue Peeta.

I don't think that Jennifer Lawrence quite rocked this performance as she has before, but I also don't think she was given much chance. The Mockingjay Katniss isn't the same one who can own a battle arena. This Katniss is buried -- literally -- in a mine of secrecy, expectations, and fear. She isn't allowed to shine as she would prefer. She can't help Peeta, she can't go home, she can't reconcile the effects of war with the people she loves. Instead, she has to become a figurehead, filmed and protected, and watch as the people around her go to fight or cower under attack. As far as her emotional center and conflicted passions, Lawrence nails it here. But I expect Part Two to bring a dynamic change to her character.

Sadly, we don't get much of the charming and skilled Josh Hutcherson (Peeta) in this one, though his few moments are dramatic highlights. With him, and so horribly briefly, we see Stanley Tucci rocking his fabulous costumes as television host Caesar. We do, however, get to see a bit more of Liam Hemsworth as Katniss's other romantic interest, which is good because up till now he hasn't had much onscreen time, and Sam Claflin supports as fellow victor and rebel Finnick. Natalie Dormer (The Tudors, Game of Thrones) shows up as leader of the film crew, and we see a bit of Woody Harrelson again as a now-sober Haymitch. Elizabeth Banks rocks a jumpsuited Effie with sweet charm, though her time onscreen is also sadly short.

The real stars of this film, however, are the people in power. Donald Sutherland maintains his icy, terrifying hold on President Snow, and Philip Seymour Hoffman returns as ex-Gamemaker Plutarch Heavensbee with typical intelligence and fervor. But newcomer Julianne Moore gave a weird edge to this movie for me, as the rebel President Coin. She shows strength and smarts in leading the war effort, but something feels wrong to me. Besides her striking visage and crazy eyes, President Coin has cultivated a rigid, militaristic atmosphere among her people. I predict that her true colors have not been entirely shown. At one point, to defend her strategy, she claims "We are not the Capitol," before glancing directly at Katniss and then quickly away. Other characters mention in passing her strict control over rebel life. I wonder if her methods are not so very different from those of her avowed enemy, President Snow. But I suppose we'll have to wait and see.

IMDb: Mockingjay: Part One

Whiplash (2014)

Score: 4.5 / 5

I don't know much about the percussion world, but Whiplash presents us with a cutthroat competition of academic drumming. The movie centers on young Andrew now enrolled at Shaffer Conservatory, supposedly the best music school in the United States. In a coming of age story, Andrew becomes increasingly isolated and obsessive over his ambitions; he longs to be "one of the greats" and allows nothing to interfere, including his new girlfriend, his distant family, and his own physical health.

Miles Teller (Rabbit Hole, The Spectacular Now) plays our protagonist with passion and strength. I don't know if he learned to play the drums like a pro -- a feat that is no small matter, even from my layperson perspective -- but his dramatic performance alone carries the film. His haunted stare and furious perseverance take the movie into a darker side of the "coming of age" narrative, without his becoming an antihero.

The other star of the film is his primary instructor, Fletcher, played by a terrifying J. K. Simmons. Fletcher is a monster, one who seems to have no personality traits other than aggressive violence and sadism. He terrorizes his students with unpredictable cruelty and often unjust punishments. He humiliates students in class, encourages backstabbing and jealousy, and even throws a chair at Andrew's head. He claims to do it all for a good reason -- that he seeks to continually push students to be better, and that "good job" are the most harmful words in the English language -- but his methods are barbaric. Simmons performs as a chameleon, hiding his true self behind a series of false caricatures. We get only brief glimpses into his true self, which vaguely reveal a tortured soul, before he dons another mask. The performance is a marvel.

Whiplash, named for one of its tough musical numbers but having a curious double meaning, is never less than brutal. Its depiction of competitive musical culture is perhaps even more compelling than any number of action-oriented "sports" movies, likely because it is so unexpected. This isn't Glee or even Stomp. Its focus on artistic and educational atmospheres make it feel more like Dead Poets Society -- but with a bad teacher, rather than Robin Williams -- and the self-torturing Teller and insane Simmons make it feel weirdly like Black Swan. So, yes, it's pretty great. The editing is tight and effective, Damien Chazelle's direction is wonderful, and the ending is nothing short of rousing. Well, okay, it's a bit of an incredulous stretch, but it's quite exciting anyway. Do yourself a favor and check this one out.

IMDb: Whiplash

Child of God (2013)

Score: 4.5 / 5

Adaptations. Sometimes we love them, and sometimes we don't. But to just complain that a movie isn't like its book, or a television show isn't like its graphic novel is intellectually and artistically lazy. I always find it much more stimulating to analyze how and consider why certain changes have been made (the word "adaptation" implies change, guys, especially when the material changes medium). And that process often makes me appreciate the work more anyway, so it's win-win.

I have to say that James Franco's Child of God fully keeps the spirit of Cormac McCarthy's novel as I read it. It's not necessarily plot-driven -- neither is the novel -- because it concerns itself more with character and theme. In case you didn't know, our protagonist is Lester Ballard, a murderer and necrophile who haunts rural Appalachia. Expelled by society, he eventually lives in caves populated by his decomposing trophies. Even though the movie isn't strictly plotty, Franco's control of Lester's descent into degradation is a wonder to witness, so much so that his increasing madness almost makes sense to us.

Of course, full credit for Lester's realization has to go to Scott Haze. I can't even imagine his process for becoming Lester, but the result is truly incredible. He turns the character into a horror that rivals most we ever see on screen, while also making him a sort of pitiful everyman. Haze throws his whole body into Lester, morphing his face into a wraithlike sneer and worming his way through bramble and mud with agility and haunting grace. Haze hasn't shown up on many big screens yet, but he probably will after this picture; if Child of God had mainstream producers, I'm convinced Haze would have been a social hot topic and big award contender.

Some of the more difficult and expensive scenes of the novel have been omitted (e.g., the boy eating a bird's legs, the flood that forces Lester to move), but their absence allows us more time to dwell on the realities of Lester's isolated life. For example: The first scene shows Lester attempting to defend his house from being auctioned off, and being regarded as dangerous and deserving violence. In the second scene, we see him defecating in the forest. These are the realities of Lester's life, and we are shown them without pomp and ceremony. As to the fickle fecal moment (which is graphic, but brief), there's a first time for everything, folks! This shows how far we've come from toilet-flushing in Psycho, am I right?

Franco seems completely satisfied to ignore any "reason" or "cause" as to why Lester behaves as he does. He wisely scraps McCarthy's enlightening (and, in this case, limiting) flashbacks into Lester's past: This, I suspect, works better for our more literally-minded film audiences. Franco retains, however, the episodic structure of the novel as well as its three distinct movements. I don't particularly like the two(ish?) quotes used as title cards in the early minutes of the film; they are too few to be aesthetic, and seem to be forcing the viewer to accept the film as a product of McCarthy's making, not as its own artistic endeavor. But thankfully, there are only the couple incidents.

Besides the imposed text, I do like the voiceover during probably half of the film; it reflects the complicated narrative device McCarthy uses to estimate social commentary on Lester's degraded existence. I also quickly enjoyed the active camera, held at or below eye level: We are literally looking up to Lester for most of the movie, at least until the end. These are brave artistic choices, and ones that fully grappled my attention and wonder.

I have a few extra thoughts about the ending. I love McCarthy's comparison of Lester's body being dissected and the bodies of his victims being unearthed. But I also love that Franco ends with a simple, lovely, and distinctly chilling image of Lester wandering free through the mountains. My acceptance of this ending (and much of the film) largely comes down to this: McCarthy imbued so much metaphysical suggestion into his narrative (so intensely focused on one man's journey), that I often think of the novel as a parable or myth of sorts. Franco, in my opinion, mastered this technique in making this picture: he uses enough "reality" to let us believe what we see, while making scenes brief and vague to let us consider all the implications of the proceedings, rather than dictating our reactions to us. That's a damn skilled filmmaker for you.

IMDb: Child of God

Interstellar (2014)

Score: 3 / 5

It feels important. It feels sometimes dreamlike. It feels like Oscar-bait. Christopher Nolan's newest, much-anticipated cosmic drama was, frankly, a disappointment to me. But it is also quite beautiful, and in unexpected ways.

Typical of Nolan's work, Interstellar makes you think while it awes you with great visuals. Its fanciful appeal keeps the lengthy running time (almost three hours) not quite unbearable. Though not as explicitly dazzling as the special-effects-heavy Oscar winners of the last two years (2013's Gravity, 2012's Life of Pi), Interstellar features truly amazing effects and visual art. Perhaps my attention was most captured by the practical appearance of those effects. I've not read much about the making of the film, but it seems to me that more of the effects were tricks of science and photography, rather than straight computer generation. That's a really interesting choice for a space adventure, and one that keeps it fresh and absorbing.

But the emotional substance of the film falls short of its visuals. Nolan and his brother Jonathan intriguingly wrote the film with an emphasis on human (especially family) drama rather than wild space exploration and adventure. But I think they failed at balancing what might be a moving family drama and what could have been a riveting sci-fi excursion. The film is only occasionally "exciting" in the typical sense of the word, and though a lot of the characters cry most of the time it's never cathartic; this film may tug at your heartstrings, but you can also feel the heavy hand that plucks 'em. Though the dialogue has its moments -- often heightened and abstract -- there are only so many times I want to hear Michael Caine recite the same verse. In fact, I think the most emotional connection I made to the film was through the lovely score by Hans Zimmer.

The acting is really solid, fortunately. Matthew McConaughey gives a powerhouse lead performance that will surely garner some award nominations. Jessica Chastain and Anne Hathaway tag-team as his strongest supporting castmates, and Hathaway especially delivers in a crucial monologue about the essence of love, about halfway through the film. These dynamic ladies, though, are featured with lots of close-ups of alternating crying and anger; they are giving great strength, but Nolan's direction sometimes works against them. Other actors Wes Bentley, Michael Caine, Matt Damon, John Lithgow, and Ellen Burstyn are all fine, though their roles are all quite brief.

I really liked the first hour of the movie, and the second hour only a little less. The family drama is a little too familiar, but paired with this cast and the high-stakes science, it's no less engaging. Not all of Nolan's dramatic choices work as well as he obviously wanted them to, and frankly I was annoyed and shocked by all the sizeable plot holes in the picture. Nolan usually knits up his plots with incredible detail, so this felt quite uncharacteristic. But in the third hour (or at least the third act, as I wasn't really keeping time), I just checked out. I don't want to spoil anything, but the already out-of-this-world film gets aggressively weird, and I just couldn't take it any more. It felt wildly contrived and forced, and Nolan's already sentimental approach controlled the last half hour so much that I was giggling at the melodrama. That, I guess, is not the response we're supposed to have.

IMDb: Interstellar

Nightcrawler (2014)

Score: 5 / 5

I have said before that a single performance does not a movie make. And while I'm not going to eat my words, I should amend them. When a film is "about" (vile phrase) a single complex character, I think the actor can certainly make the film worthwhile. And when the rest of the film is pretty great by itself, this combination of talent, intelligence, and passion makes the experience truly enchanting. Such is the case with Nightcrawler.

Yet another embodiment in our culture's recent fascination with antiheroes, our titular cameraman commands our attention and demands our minds in his nightly adventures. A freelance crime photographer, he prowls the streets of Los Angeles in pursuit of carnage that he might sell to the news. Lou Bloom is a terrifying specter of a man: Isolated and desperate but wildly intelligent and ambitious, he manipulates the world around him to achieve his ends. He disturbs crime scenes to get better photographic vantages, he sabotages his competitors, and he cultivates romantic tension with his boss to stay protected.

Jake Gyllenhaal gives one of his most compelling performances yet, and one that will hopefully earn him great recognition come Oscar night. We already knew that he gets insanely dedicated to his various characters -- changing chameleon-like into everything from a geeky high-schooler to a hunky Persian prince -- but his transformation into the City of Angels' angel of death is perhaps his most astounding yet. His gaunt visage and bulging eyes are the stuff of nightmares (and of Academy favor; we've seen time and again their support of actors who drastically change their bodies for a performance), but the mind behind the visage is even more horrific. His glassy gaze tantalizingly gives us endless room to speculate, and in every moment on screen he is impossible to predict. The moments in which his vast intellect steps aside and his enigmatic soul surfaces caught my breath in an iron grip. Notably, his "what I want" speech to his boss about two-thirds of the way through the film almost knocked me out of my seat.

Rene Russo, though given less screen time than Gyllenhaal, is no less compelling as the morning news director selected by Lou Bloom to employ him. Her own attraction to the dark and dangerous "if it bleeds, it leads" motto serves as the crux of the film's satire on media. Which brings me to another point. As haunting as the film is to me, it never felt unbearably weighty or morbid. Don't get me wrong, it's a thriller through and through, but rather than wallowing in its own sinister atmosphere, Nightcrawler is also an exercise in pitch-black comedy. So much so that rather than giggle, I had to resist shuddering several times. Amazing that a film can provoke such a strong reaction, isn't it?

Writer and director Dan Gilroy, beyond writing one of the most terrifying, articulate male characters in recent memory, expertly controls the film's speed and style. It never feels overwhelmingly plot-driven, and its commentary on the news and crime never reaches beyond the film's scope. Gilroy -- in his directorial debut, no less -- understands Lou Bloom so well that he centers what could easily become a glum noir piece or an overblown action spectacle on intellectual drama (not emotional, never sentimental), making the film a pure psychological thriller. He and cinematographer Robert Elswit together fashion a palpably tense atmosphere entirely out of dramatic lighting, which is easily the most evocative I've seen this year.

IMDb: Nightcrawler

The Book of Life (2014)

Score: 2.5 / 5

In case you couldn't tell from the posters or trailers, The Book of Life looks incredible. Its visual design is some of the most intricate I've ever seen in animation, and it dazzles for most of its ninety-something-minute run. The characters, costumes, and decorations are so beautifully crafted that I constantly wanted to reach out and touch them -- and I didn't even see it in 3D!

Unfortunately, not much else in the film compares to its visuals. It's just a predictable, rehashed Orpheus tale of hetero romantic competition, lost love (in an idealized female figure), and brave heroism (in two idealized male figures). While I liked the film's bias in favor of the more artistic man in the love triangle (voiced by Diego Luna), each of the three leads is so heavily clichéd that they don't win over my sympathies. Channing Tatum voices the more athletic man with exceptional humor and intelligence that saves his character from utter ruin, and Zoe Saldana voices the lead woman with spunk and charm. The real character gems in this film are in its three deities: La Muerte (Kate del Castillo), Xibalba (Ron Perlman), and the Candle Maker (Ice Cube). Their performances are fine, their design is out of this world, and frankly I had more interest in their characters than in the humans.

The film's great visuals are sacrificed, sadly, by speedy pace and frantic editing. Rather than using long shots (in which, people seem to forget, a lot can happen, especially when everything on-screen is animated!), first-time director Jorge Gutierrez uses quick shots overloaded with kinetic energy and colors in which we can barely recognize what we see, let alone appreciate it. I think the film would have been better served had he allowed the stunning animation and vibrant atmosphere to envelop us on its own, rather than shoving the material at us and then pushing us along with it.

I expect that Gutierrez and his team hurried the shots to match the quick pace of the film. For a journey that spans three worlds (the land of the living, the Land of the Remembered, and the Land of the Forgotten), the film moves at breakneck speed, presumably to keep younger children totally engaged for an hour and a half. A lot of the comedy -- like the visuals -- was wasted on me, because it is both too quick and too simple. Many moments felt like they came from cheap animated television shows due to the silly nature of the humor and the awkward expressions or movements of the characters.

My final reaction to the film is one of mild disappointment. An animated feature film to celebrate the Day of the Dead seemed like such a fresh idea and a great opportunity for children (especially amidst the immigration debates of our country right now) to understand and appreciate the beauty in non-white-American cultures. While The Book of Life may yet accomplish that, I worry that the film misrepresents the culture and holiday it depicts by making the material so modern and, well, white; it subtly reinforces cultural appropriation, and I'm not sure its messages of tolerance or education are strong enough to overcome that. A few times characters break out into song, but they sing contemporary songs and use modern American vernacular, which completely shatters any fantastic illusion provided by the visuals. Finally, the last two minutes of the film are probably its best, as the three deities share lessons for us all which are really important. But I wasn't convinced by them because they felt tacked on and superficial; if you're going to put a concise, explicit moral at the end of your movie, the rest of the film needs to work hard enough to sell it. I'm not sure this one did.

IMDb: The Book of Life

Ouija (2014)

Score: 1.5 / 5

Is Ouija a spooky addition to the holiday market? Yes. But is it in any way memorable, valuable, or important to the genre? I have to say, No.

Poor Ouija. It's really not too terrible, when contrasted with the plethora of horror movies. There are "good" and "bad" of any genre, but horror seems to get the rap when it comes to "bad" cinema. It's certainly entertaining -- in terms of bad horror -- when it comes to historical comparison. But that may only be because it is more "up-to-date" when it comes to contemporary digital special effects. The fact that the film is entertaining purely because of its placement in acceptable film presentation is just sad; it should have some values other than its vague tension and its cinematographic familiarity.

Okay, Olivia Cooke is great. But she's about it. The Bates Motel and The Quiet Ones (2014) star is the sole soul of the picture. Granted, she is totally worth the watch, simply due to her emotional connection and deliverance in every single scene. One must wonder, though, if a single performance makes a film worthwhile. I mean, her delivery is admirable, but why waste a good 90 minutes? Lin Shaye (Insidious (2010), and A Nightmare on Elm Street (1984), for you genre lovers) pops up for two pivotal scenes, but these scenes are heavily contrived and make us audience members feel cheated. Why would any post-Insidious film feel sincere in casting Lin Shaye as the same plot device, but with slightly heightened character? Answer: It wouldn't. Why? Because since Snakes on a Plane (2006) she's been too recognizable.

Director Stiles White is not without his credits, either. But a history of horror writers (The Possession (2012), Boogeyman (2005)) and special effects artists or production assistants (Jurassic Park III (2001), Lake Placid (1999), The Sixth Sense (1999)) does not a director make. White's approach to the material is bland, disconnected, and familiar. He never sees the material as exciting or fresh, and so it isn't to us. Granted, the script isn't wildly novel. But especially in this genre, we should expect the director to give us an entry into the material that is unusual, intelligent, or overwhelming. White gives us none of the above. In fact, every single moment that could be brilliant -- and, for the record, there are several moments that could be brilliant and, moreover, unique in the genre -- is sacrificed by White for comfort and familiarity. I think I actually muttered that twice during the screening: "I saw that coming." That's a phrase I usually reserve for uttering during third-time viewings on DVD in my own home, because I think vocalizing those comments in a movie theater is a cardinal sin.

I really don't know what else to say. Wikipedia may tell you the plot, but I guarantee you already can guess the plot simply by knowing the title and seeing the trailer. I had hoped that the performances or the director's aesthetic might increase the picture's value, but my hopes have been dashed. If you are looking for late-night Halloween-weekend entertainment and potential foreplay action, you may want to book a date for Ouija. My recommendation? Buy the actual board game. It's much more titillating. If you want the movie, wait for it on RedBox or Netflix. It's not worth the $5 for a cinema experience.

IMDb: Ouija

Fury (2014)

Score: 4.5 / 5

Fury is brutal. It's now one of my favorite war movies -- ranking behind Kathryn Bigelow's The Hurt Locker (2008) and Zero Dark Thirty (2012) and Steven Spielberg's Saving Private Ryan (1998)-- but I don't know how many times I'll watch it again. Writer/director David Ayer has crafted a compact, concentrated, and complex vision of war as hell that left me reeling and, yes, weeping.

Our battle-scarred heroes are at the forefront of the final stage of World War II, pushing into the heart of battle-scarred Nazi Germany in their battle-scarred tank, named Fury. Like their tank, the five-man crew has to act in perfect tandem or risk injury, death, and -- more important for them -- defeat. Passing through enthusiasm and honor to isolation, desperation, and horror, the men are forced to eventually make a last stand (literally at a crossroads) against a small army of Nazi elites. This story is not for the faint of heart.

Brad Pitt's performance as the leader of our team is really solid. It wasn't the best I've seen from him, but he carries the film with a risky and successful war-hardened stoicism. His character, however, is wildly interesting, as in one scene he shoots an unarmed prisoner in the back, in one he protects two German women from his own men. He also acts as brother and father to his team, drinking with them and breaking in the fearful, idealistic new member. His crew consists of admirable actors Jon Bernthal (The Walking Dead) and Michael Pena (End of Watch, Gracepoint) in strong performances, and Pitt takes his orders from an understated and haunted Jason Isaacs (The Patriot, Harry Potter).

The real acting gems in this movie are in Logan Lerman and Shia LaBeouf. Lerman (Percy Jackson, The Perks of Being a Wallflower) -- the young, recently enlisted typist -- can't fulfill his role as gunner due to his idealistic innocence. Pitt literally forces him to shoot a Nazi prisoner, and Lerman's arc from miserable disillusionment to the hero of the film is the stuff of aged veterans. LaBeouf (Nymphomaniac, Disturbia) plays the chief gunner and spiritual counsel to the group, and frankly his tears brought mine every time. Well-meaning but spiritually tortured, his Bible-quoting rhythms and compassionate emoting brought a much-needed sense of humanity to the film. I strongly recommend you see this movie simply for his performance, if nothing else. Which is saying a lot, because the claustrophobic atmosphere brings these five men together with remarkable homosocial honesty and emotional vulnerability.

In our world of role-playing, first-person, over-simplified, graphically violent war games, my favorite thing about Fury is that it never once feels simple, computer-generated, or remotely machismo in its approach to the subject matter. Ayer eyes most of the rubble-strewn, muddy landscape in grayscale, and heavily dirties every prop, costume, and actor's face. He also surprises us with unexpected and shocking violence, as we see bayonets through eyes, bodies under tank treads, and legs blown apart. We even see images so subtle but profound that they enhance our horror beyond the gore, including a refugee still wearing her wedding dress, and an older woman cutting meat from a dead horse. Against the tactile grit of Fury's images plays Steven Price's (Gravity) gorgeous score, featuring a men's chorus in spine-tingling efficacy.

IMDb: Fury

Dracula Untold (2014)

Score: 3 / 5

Dracula Untold is a prime example of a film that is mislabeled, released at the wrong time, and that carries unfortunate baggage with it. If you think it's a Halloween scare-fest, a Gothic romance, or even remotely like anything associated with the Dracula story ever, you're in for disappointment.

Yet it's an interesting concept and a decent (if familiar) story. A re-imagining of a generic vampire myth (that only happens to carry the name Dracula), it feels like anything but a vampire movie. It's not really a romance -- even remotely erotic -- and it's not really horror, though there are a few moments of sentiment and violence. It's essentially an action movie about an archaic antihero who has to navigate his duty to himself, his family, and his kingdom in the face of a cruel higher power. In fact, it often feels like Stephen Sommers's (also re-imagined) Mummy franchise in its focus on action and a creature that casually uses supernatural powers; it does not, however, share Mummy's wit or humor.

Luke Evans (The Raven, The Hobbit trilogy) is great as Vlad the Impaler, the brave prince of Transylvania under Turkish rule. Paternal, brooding, charismatic, and downright hot, Evans skillfully performs the rote character with heart and style. But then, I would watch him do anything. I find the film's antihero approach to the character wildly fresh, and I can't get enough of the character's "wholesome" sex appeal. That's not a very articulate way of putting it, but what I mean is that he isn't an exotic Other (Bela Lugosi), a handsome gentleman (Frank Langella), or a shape-shifting mesmerizer (Gary Oldman). He's somber, passionate, and stereotypically masculine in ways I've never seen Dracula played; he's a loving husband, a devoted father, and a sacrificial ruler. I said the film is hardly romantic, but in several ways I see the passion Evans shares with his character's son as arrestingly romantic.

This film -- and more interestingly, the title character -- wisely stays far away from an optimism all too common in other fantasy/action films (Maleficent, for example). I said earlier that it never fully feels like a vampire film, because it lacks our cultural horror of bodily fluids, foreign invasion, and sexual perversion/manipulation. Charles Dance provides the central means of bugaboo in the film, as the sorcerer/vampire living in an isolated mountain cave, and his scene with Evans is the only freaky, "normal" vampire moment in the film. Creepy, disfigured old man who shares his blood and performs arcane magic. That's normal, right? I find rather disgruntling, moreover, the suggestion that the horror (stemming from the war violence in this tale) comes from Muslim culture, as the vampiric Turkish Sultan (Dominic Cooper) demands a tribute of youth to serve in his army. Vlad, the quasi-Christian prince who speaks with a British accent, sells his soul to Satan to stop the Sultan, who speaks with a more exotic accent which sounds weirdly like Bela Lugosi's Dracula accent. Rather than, like in Francis Ford Coppola's version of the story, attempting to bridge the gap between foreign and domestic or Christian and Other, Dracula Untold is a very deeply Christian tale that not-so-subtly pits itself against Islam.

Though its plot is similar to many up-beat, mainstream action films, the film's aesthetic thrives in heavily textured darkness. First-time feature film director Gary Shore leaves a lot of room for special effects that don't always work, but he does find occasionally nice visuals. He and cinematographer John Schwartzman (Pearl Harbor, The Amazing Spider-Man, Saving Mr. Banks) especially succeed with effective lighting, notably in Dracula's final fight with the Turkish Sultan. My favorite technical aspect of the film is its costumes, designed by Ngila Dickson (The Lord of the Rings trilogy, Blood Diamond); the armor Evans wears is just fabulous.

The film arguably has a happy ending, but it's also pretty dark, so I'll leave that one up to you. Besides a few funky plot holes and too-familiar melodramatic turns, Dracula Untold is a fully functioning dark fantasy and a serviceable supernatural action picture. Overall, it's an entertaining hour-and-a-half to be sure, but it is not, sadly, particularly memorable.

IMDb: Dracula Untold

The Judge (2014)

Score: 4 / 5

It's been several years since Robert Downey, Jr., seriously performed a serious character. His role in this makes up for all of it, and then some. The Judge is essentially a character study on a highly successful big-city lawyer whose personal life is disintegrating. When he returns to his childhood home to mourn his mother's passing, he becomes entrenched in a murder trial with his father as the prime suspect. Over the course of the film, he reconnects with his roots and heals his damaged relations with his family.

Robert Downey, Jr., proves to those of us who forgot that he can be a leading man. His roller coaster ride from guarded, impersonal urban workaholic to surprisingly vulnerable hometown man yearning for belonging. He has moments of his familiar, slippery humor, but he never sacrifices character or drama for it. More impressive to me is that he is a dramatic leading man in an almost entire cast of men. We don't see this very often, where a bunch of well-regarded male actors join together to create such an emotional movie about family, pride, respect, love, and reunion.

Robert Duvall plays Downey's father, the titular judge, with the gruff short-sightedness we've come to expect from him, but it effectively sets up his domestic problems the film goes on to explore. Unfortunately none of the supporting characters are given much of any dramatic arc, rather existing solely for our two leads to bounce off and develop against. More comic elements to the story are largely brought by Billy Bob Thornton, playing a dangerous prosecutor, and Dax Shepard, playing the town's up-and-coming defense attorney. Vincent D'Onofrio and Jeremy Strong play Downey's two brothers in heartwrenching portrayals of confusion, dependency, resentment, and eventually family. Several other fairly important names show up -- including Denis O'Hare, Leighton Meester, Sarah Lancaster -- but the big "third lead" as I consider her to be in this film is Vera Farmiga (Up in the Air (2009), Bates Motel), playing Downey's high school girlfriend. She is the only supporting role that has much dramatic arc, and most of it is because of the incredible work she's put into the character, not because the script allows much time for her.

It's not an original narrative, but director David Dobkin views most of it with an eye for wildly dramatic lighting and deliberate pacing. Especially engaging for me were the courtroom scenes, with such dark interior colors and stark contrast with garish light streaming through the windows. Dobkin allows for sentimentality in this picture, but he never totally gives in to it. His catches us by small surprise here and again with sharp comedy and brutal emotional revelation. Brutal, you ask? Oh yes. In one scene, Duvall falls and gets sick (presumably from his cancer treatment) and Downey helps clean him in the shower. And then, just when it's almost too much to watch, director Dobkin throws in some comedy in the form of Downey's daughter knocking on the bathroom door.

It's a charming, stylish family drama that partly takes place in a courtroom. Its familiarity and simple plot make it that much easier to project our own associations and emotional baggage onto it, and then receive a cathartic payoff before the end. Be prepared to smile, laugh, and then let the tears come.

IMDb: The Judge