Mortdecai (2015)

Score: 4 / 5

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

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

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

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

IMDb: Mortdecai

American Sniper (2014)

Score: 2.5 / 5

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

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

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

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

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

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

IMDb: American Sniper

Selma (2014)

Score: 5 / 5

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

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

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

IMDb: Selma

The Imitation Game (2014)

Score: 4 / 5

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

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

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

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

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

IMDb: The Imitation Game

Big Eyes (2014)

Score: 4.5 / 5

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

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

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

IMDb: Big Eyes

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

Score: 2 / 5

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

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

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

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

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

IMDb: The Woman in Black 2