Mr. Holmes (2015)

Score: 4.5 / 5

When the lights first came up during the ending credits, I confess myself to have been disappointed. I've been spoiled by the several incarnations of our favorite sleuth in recent film and television, and frankly I enjoy those versions' speed, wit, and energy. I knew this film would have little, if any, of that, but I was still a little fidgety in the auditorium as I watched the old man slowly crossing the screen before me.

But the film has not left my mind since I saw it, and I realize now that it might be the most fascinating movie I've seen all summer. Screenwriter Jeffrey Hatcher (and original author Mitch Cullin) and director Bill Condon (Gods and Monsters, Dreamgirls, The Fifth Estate) have done something remarkable with the character of Sherlock Holmes and his world. They have made it understated. In fact, everything in the film is so marvelously nuanced and calm that it's quite easy to miss the calculated beauty and intrigue. And, as I continue to reflect on the work, that is precisely what makes the film so memorable.

And, of course, Ian McKellan is astonishing as an old man fighting to regain his memory and solve his last case. But for all of us who love Holmes will attest, "the case" isn't really his only intellectual pursuit. This film weaves together three completely different cases, all centering on Holmes: These are not cases that he is simply solving, but rather cases in which he himself is complicit. One concerns his last professional case, involving a mysterious woman who has lost her children. One involves a Japanese man who harbors a secret animosity toward the man he believes stole his father away. And one involves Holmes's housekeeper, who is displeased with her situation, and her son, who develops an intimate friendship with the old man.

McKellan is carried back and forth in time and place by our filmmakers, and he carries the weight (and makeup) of it admirably. His eyes, often staring into space to search for something beyond our comprehension, show the sadness, the perception, the love, and, as he himself declares, the regret in his life. He seems to effortlessly play the part of a dying old man, and yet his vigor and passion shines brightest when he shares scenes with the young boy (Milo Parker) who lives with him. The two are matches for each other in curiosity and excitement, and seeing the care with which they treat each other pulls at your heartstrings like you won't believe.

There are certainly other jewels in the cast -- notably with Laura Linney and Frances de la Tour -- but none have enough screen time to capture our attention. Rather, we follow Holmes as he navigates his own foggy memories and see how they hamper his daily activities. We see flashbacks in the way he himself might, with images that fly across the screen that don't make sense until much later in the picture. When, about three-quarters of the way through the film, Holmes remembers/solves one of his cases, I thought for sure the rest of the film would be a melodramatic descent into tragedy as we saw the now "successful" detective lose his mind entirely.

Instead, the last quarter of the film digs still deeper into his character. He shares his regrets and his frustrations, and he articulately reveals the one problem that forever eluded him. We also see how he has been attempting to solve that problem with his housekeeper and her son, and we ultimately see him grapple with it until he gains victory. I could have never seen this movie's climax coming. More important, I don't think Mr. Holmes could have. But Condon puts together all the pieces of this immense puzzle into such an elaborate pattern that it will take me several viewings to appreciate all the subtleties in this picture.

And, happily, this movie ends with an uplifting sensation that reduced me to a blubbering mess. I mean, how many films about old people -- especially old heroes -- end with anything but death or, maybe worse, loss of self (I'm thinking of The Iron Lady, and how it ends with a haunting look at isolation and a retrograde situation)? But this is a celebration of sorts of life, curiosity, caring for others, and coping with a haunted past.

If you like mindless blockbuster entertainment, you may want to pass this one up. Mr. Holmes is anything but elementary.

IMDb: Mr. Holmes

Southpaw (2015)

Score: 4 / 5

Man is an athletic champion. Man suffers personal tragedy. Man struggles to fix his life. Man trains to win again. Man wins contest and regains his life. Add that he's white and wealthy, and try not to gag.

We've all heard it. We've all seen it. There is literally nothing fresh about it. So how did I end up gasping and crying my way through the two-hour sports drama?

Because Southpaw is different. Because director Antoine Fuqua (Training Day, King Arthur) holds no punches back from the brutality of the sport in question. Because cinematographer Mauro Fiore (Avatar) keeps things heavy, dark, and gritty. Because writer Kurt Sutter (Sons of Anarchy) poetically captures the horrors of an environment that is usually glamorized in our culture. Because the late great composer of epics James Horner (Titanic) very subtly mirrors our protagonist's descent into hell and eventual redemption with his score.

And, of course, the bulk of praise goes to Jake Gyllenhaal, who once again proves his determination to transform himself into his characters. After last year's Nightcrawler, when he lost weight, grew out his hair, and articulately perfected his character, Gyllenhaal has here bulked up, buzzed his hair, and solemnly retreated into the recesses of his mind. Much like Tom Hardy in last year's The Drop, Gyllenhaal keeps us guessing as to his exact personality because he so flawlessly portrays a man who has given his all to his body and the sport that he can scarcely articulate his feelings. And yet he allows us a few moments of genuine vulnerability, especially when we see him with his daughter; we also see, through some magic he works, his true character in his moments alone as he battles his demons, both in the ring and out.

If you know me at all, you know I love horror movies. I can usually handle the violence, no sweat. But I have a lot of trouble with watching fistfighting, which often happens out of the blue (remember Gangster Squad? Sheesh). I was expecting a fair amount here, but I had to cover my eyes a lot in this movie. That just goes to show, though, how determined the cast and crew were to show the physical effects of boxing on the human body. Fuqua never shies away from the blood, the sweat, and (most unnerving for me) the close-ups. It's in these moments that this film doesn't feel like most sports dramas, in which the sweat makes the characters look glorious, and the brief dripping blood is the most disturbing part of the film.

Rather, here we see horrors well beyond the field. The disparities between celebrity athletes and street fighters, the financial problems of inner-city youth, the isolating effects of a parent's death on her child. Fuqua and Sutter also (and, I think, most successfully) hide certain moments of violence from us, probably to keep the already dark film out of the realm of exploitation or horror. They don't refrain from discussing these moments, or even from seeing their tragic aftermath. But we don't see, for example, the fatal shooting of our protagonist's wife. We don't see the death of the young black man our protagonist is training. But we don't have to. Those moments are quite brutal enough, attesting to the abilities of our filmmakers. And the absence of these moments is more than made up for in the (in my opinion) extravagantly violent boxing scenes.

If nothing else, at least see this picture for Gyllenhaal. He's incredible.

IMDb: Southpaw

Ant-Man (2015)

Score: 4.5 / 5

And the award for the most surprisingly great movie so far this year goes to.... You guessed it! I mean, come on -- Ant-Man isn't exactly the one Marvel hero everyone looks back on with fondness or even lust. I don't know, maybe it's his size?

But this movie might have set itself up as one of the best Marvel Studios films yet. It takes kinetic humor straight from Guardians of the Galaxy, proper character development from Iron Man (2008), and introduces some stylized visuals unique unto itself. More importantly, it carefully maintains a difficult balance between proper drama and humor amidst all the action and sci-fi spectacle. We have lengthy scenes of fairly somber dialogue, usually delivered by none other than Michael Douglas. While some will undoubtedly groan at the apparent lack of action, I applaud a "superhero movie" for finally giving us some concrete and worthwhile character development. Rarely have I felt this kind of gravitas in a Marvel Studios film, even when their characters are dripping blood.

But the other big part of the movie that charms me is its sheer wit. Not only is this movie intensely concerned with the characters and their articulation -- a motif explored twice quite literally, with mad props to the director and Michael Pena for those delightful sequences of visualized voiceovers -- but if the narrative has a defining trope, it is a coming of age story. I mean, here we have a guy whose history is taking things that don't belong to him, which might be one of the first sins young children enact on the playground. He finds a mentor, develops a romantic interest, grows physically into his own, and takes on the playground bully. Along the way, he gains humility (the guy shrinks to the size of an ant, for crying out loud), bravery, and, most importantly, responsibility. He learns that his gosh-darn adorable daughter (whose career has suddenly exploded with this summer's The Whispers and now this) already thinks of him as a hero, and now it's up to him to become one, as I think his ex-wife advises at one point.

If this is all a little heady, that's probably why I liked this picture. It has other virtues, too, especially in its fast-paced humor. Paul Rudd plays his character as self-aware and uses humor in a far more sensible manner than, for example, Star Lord did in Guardians. This guy is down-to-earth, which is probably good, since his ant companions spend a lot of time down there. Director Peyton Reed, whose films up to now have been comedies, I believe, allows this film more dramatic weight without ever losing its bubbly energy, a tactic seen most clearly in the final fight scene. Loud, dramatic music plays as our hero and villain fight each other in sequences of complex visual effects, and then Reed pops in a music-less shot from farther away, and we can barely see our characters as we remember they are only the size of ants.

It's not a particularly original idea -- even the central conflict is recycled from Age of Ultron, wherein Corey Stoll's (House of Cards) villainous character seeks an all-powerful police force of sorts -- and it's by no means the most action-packed movie this summer. But a lot can be said for a film with simple goals that is produced with an eye for excellence. A lot can also be said for a superhero film (a genre dominated by white, straight American men) that concerns itself more with family than with hetero-romantic flings, more with friendship and trust across ethnic lines than with suspicion and antagonism of other ethnic groups, and more with the rising power of women along with men than with woman as office workers and sexual objects. So bravo, Ant-Man. Let's do it again soon.

PS: The fight between Falcon and Ant-Man is possibly one of the best scenes yet in the franchise. I hope we can look forward to more of these low-stakes scuffles between our scrappy Avengers. But seeing as the next big film is subtitled Civil War, I have my doubts.

IMDb: Ant-Man

Magic Mike XXL (2015)

Score: 4 / 5

They're back! In an era of high-flying superhero movies, it's nice to see one as down-to-earth and unpretentious as our friendly neighborhood stripper. I confess to being more than a little worried that a sequel was going to crash and burn, especially since this round isn't helmed by Steven Soderbergh or aided by Matthew McConaughey. But Magic Mike XXL is so well-crafted that it barely feels like a sequel at all. I mean, structurally, it's obviously a sequel; tonally, though, it feels more like a companion piece. And in many ways, this film works overtime to complete the circle its predecessor started.

The first thing you need to know is that this film is much funnier than the first. We don't need to slog through a trivial love-interest plotline, and we don't need to establish introductions for everyone. Instead, we get some one-on-one time with our guys, and the actors finally get a chance to develop actual characters, beyond their chiseled bodies. Whereas in the first film they simply danced on stage and relaxed backstage, here we see them as real people, interacting with each other and navigating their sordid lives. Their performances, especially Joe Manganiello and Matt Bomer, are fully realized, and exhibit some detailed work I would never have expected. We also, yes, see them dancing a lot -- perhaps even more than before -- and frankly the dancing here is also better than before. It's probably nothing to fans of the Step Up series and its ilk, but I wouldn't know about that.

We have some new additions this time around, and all are more than welcome. Jada Pinkett Smith slides into her role with a sultry comfort that fits perfectly. Her strength and assertion is exactly what we need in a film of dancing men, and her presence also marks a welcome image of an independent, savvy woman as well as a black woman in this world of mostly white men. There is an extended sequence in her private stripper/sex club where we see mostly black entertainers and a mostly black audience performing in ways we could hardly have imagined from the first film. Along with Smith, we have Donald Glover as a singer/rapper/pseudo-stripper (?) who pops in mostly for spectacle. But his joining the team signifies the main turning point, wherein the guys decide to let their dreams shine through their twerk. I mean work. Cheesy, maybe, but hardly ineffective in continuing to cultivate our affections for them.

This movie goes a bit overboard with spectacle. We have stripping, dancing, singing, rapping, fabulous lighting effects, and camerawork that looks like Soderbergh's brainchild (indeed, director Gregory Jacobs has worked extensively with Soderbergh, and was his first assistant on Magic Mike). As a companion piece, this film succeeds admirably, going overboard with "money shots" (beg pardon) in every scene, whereas the first kept us guessing and hungry for more. This film may lack Soderbergh's seasoned grace, intricate pacing, and calculated plans, but it elaborates a lot of ideas Soderbergh conspicuously left out of his film and gives us the raucous entertainment we all expected last time. In short, it is indeed an "XXL" Magic Mike, and these guys command all our attention and dollar bills.

IMDb: Magic Mike XXL

Magic Mike (2012)

Score: 4 / 5

I just love this movie. And I'd be lying if I said it wasn't for prurient reasons. But those aren't the film's only virtues. I may be unpopular for saying this (because for reasons I've never actually heard elaborated, lots of my friends absolutely hate this film, though they seem ignorant of its critical praise), but I think the film is just damn good. Why? Let's get into the meat of things (*squee!*).

First things first: Yes, this is a movie about strippers. So it does carry along the things we'd expect: lots of nudity, sex, naked people, skimpy costumes, and bare skin. I think that about covers it... (or not?). Obviously the film is about sexualized men. And that is the foremost reason that I love it. In our hypersexualized culture -- whose similarly hypersexual male gaze turns us all to the female body -- it's a rare thing to see a mainstream film take this direct look at an objectified male body. Yeah, sure, it's been done before, but not usually to this extent or with such an A-list cast and crew. Is sexual objectification ever a good thing? Is it ever a good thing in the media? My answer: I dunno, but at least some artists (including men; straight men) are trying to level the playing field.

The camera here does unfortunately gaze at women, too. But I think it does so to provide an entry point for a hegemonic audience so accustomed to viewing films through the male gaze. Take the very first two scenes for example. We see the male host/emcee in erotic costume, literally in the spotlight of his stage, addressing the audience of lusting women (and, by proxy, us), talking about what parts of his body they (we!) want to touch. It's a very sly way for the filmmakers to orient their audience. And in scene two, we see our title man waking up very naked next to two very naked women. It's a relatively even distribution of power here, and it is presented in a way to both shock us into nervous laughter and to prepare us for a parade of mostly-naked men (which, again, isn't exactly something we see in most mainstream films). In fact, I bet if Olivia Munn wasn't naked in the first scene, many men would totally check out of the movie after the first eight minutes, having already been exposed to McConaughey's leather-clad self-groping and Channing Tatum's very naked rear end. I remember sitting in the theater and hearing at least two guys groan, as if thinking, "What the hell are we doing here?"

Director Steven Soderbergh masterfully helms this film as a sort of documentary, taking in many shots with a wide, distant eye, allowing for greater performances and timing. He juxtaposes these sequences with striking closeups on faces -- or, more usually, sides of faces -- to remind us of the reality of these people and the intimacy with which we are seeing their candid lives offstage. Soderbergh uses his typical style to elevate what could be salacious, soapy, or even campy material to a level of tension, realism, and even sometimes raw art. That may sound like a stretch, but when you consider other movies about strippers or sex workers (I'm thinking of Burlesque and The Full Monty, and even as popular as Pretty Woman), we see a lot of camp (i.e., a lot of style and charade without much dramatic substance), and not much else. But here, we see a form of reality.

That's not to say it's not entrancing. One of Soderbergh's more recognizable techniques (remember Traffic??) is his use of colored lenses to set certain scenes or characters apart. He uses this here, but more in contrast to the stark realism of some of the more mundane scenes. Obviously, the club and party scenes have a particular type of lighting by design, but Soderbergh alters lighting other times (most noticeably, bright reds and heavy blues) to create a hypnotic sensation to accompany the tumultuous drama onscreen.

By seeing a "form of reality", I mean a lot of things. The dialogue is awkward and stilted, which feels more honest in this film than it does in a lot of poetic dramatic pictures (yes, even Oscar winners). I'm not saying it's better or worse, but it does feel unusually true here, whatever that may mean. I also mean that the awkward dialogue, the awkward sexual encounters, and the awkward relationships depicted here provide a ton of room for laughs. Yes, it's sometimes forced, sometimes nervous, but it all works together to keep the otherwise weighty story light and kinetic (don't believe me? Just read the movie's tagline: "Work all day. Work it all night." Genius.). I also mean that we don't see a sensational, stylish, and fabulous sexed-up lifestyle as pure, fulfilling, or even always easy or enjoyable. For better or worse, this movie isn't a celebration of liberated young people and their sexual proclivities. It's about newfound celebrity, the dangers and pressures that come with riches and fame, balancing the demands of home and love and work, and the pursuit of our dreams. Yes, by the third act this movie becomes a cautionary tale about drugs and money (ugh!), but is that a bad thing, exactly? I would hazard not.

The other really great things about this film are Channing Tatum and Matthew McConaughey. I mean, the other stripper men are pretty great, they're just not on screen much (except for Alex Pettyfer, who is charming but not quite able to match the energy of his counterparts). The other players in the film aren't so great, especially not the "love interest", if that's what she is, played by Cody Horn; she looks completely inept before the camera and recites her lines like a child reading them from a cue card. But McConaughey is wonderful in a bizarre mix of raucous comedy and nuanced drama. He plays Dallas, the mad owner/host/emcee/playboy of his club, and it fits both his celebrity persona and age in a way I've never seen before. If you recall his career before 2012, you may remember that this was one of the first times (if not the first time) we saw him actually perform as a honest-to-god artist. And he got some well-deserved Oscar buzz for this role.

Tatum, on the other hand, deserved a hell of a lot more praise than he got. I remember this film as the first time I ever thought anything of Tatum beyond his musculature. He carries the film, and rocks it while he goes. He is mystifying as the man of our dreams, though that is helped along by the script. I mean, Mike is the only dynamic character here. Well, I guess the Kid sort of has a plot arc, but Pettyfer squanders his chance. Poor Tatum has to do most of his scenes opposite Pettyfer or Horn, and the fact that he still shines shows his abilities. My favorite moment of his is in his climax (??) of confronting his (stoic, childish, obnoxious) love interest: I can't tell if it's scripted or not, that's how good he is. And either way, he flies with the moment in all its awkwardness. He shows us that yes, sex workers do have real lives and hopes and dreams and fears. He shows us that showmanship and dancing is about more than good looks and skimpy clothes. And his performance shows us a real modern man, chasing an American dream, and meeting a distinctly bittersweet crossroads by the end.

IMDb: Magic Mike