The Hateful Eight (2015)

Score: 1.5 / 5

Quentin Tarantino's hyped-up newest (and, yes, eighth) film, The Hateful Eight, is conceptually and visually impressive, and it is also uncompromisingly ugly. Essentially Reservoir Dogs done in a fake-Western style, the film collects nine (yes, nine) horrible characters together in a cauldron that boils over into cruelty and violence during a beastly three-hour detention span. The unlikely and unlikeable characters spin webs of lies and slurs at each other from the get-go, and by the final act bloodbath, the only catharsis I felt came with the lights rising in the auditorium.

We begin with a stagecoach journey through Wyoming snow, shown in delicious 70mm film that only really works for shots like this. The remainder of the film takes place inside a cabin that, while improbably spacious like Hermione's handbag, does not need a 70mm presentation. It seems that Tarantino is trying to do a Hitchcockian Lifeboat, and he is ruining his own claustrophobic concept by expanding his vision. Even the wideshots of the coach outside are empty, full of sound and fury but signifying nothing, which makes me wonder why so many critics are applauding that camera choice. I might also add that the pretentious scope comes across as though the movie presents itself as a masterpiece. Which it most certainly is not.

One by one, the characters pile up. We have a full cast, from Kurt Russell (performing with a strange John Wayne swagger) to Samuel L. Jackson (being Samuel L. Jackson), and from Michael Madsen (doing his thing) to Tim Roth (playing an effete Brit, "the Hangman", a part probably intended for Christoph Waltz). Most curiously, we have Jennifer Jason Leigh as a treacherous outlaw, spending the entire film chained to her captor, face perpetually smeared in blood, and the constant recipient of brutal attack. I "understand" the violence against her in terms of the plot. I do. I do not, however, understand the repeated face-punches that Russell's character delivers to her. I also do not understand the laughter such violence elicited from the men in the audience around me. Sure, its shock value is undeniable, but laughter?

Now before you attempt to reenact "The Hangman" and (spoiler alert) lynch me like Jennifer Jason Leigh, let's get a few things straight. I am generally fine with Tarantino's penchant for movies featuring an underdog getting ultra-violent revenge; I may not clamor for more, but I can appreciate his style and his sentiments for what they are. But this film is not a revenge narrative. Not really. Rather, it's an excuse for a bunch of men to get together and toss around vicious slurs with no merit, little purpose, and bad payoffs. It's an excuse to paint the main woman in the film as a villain, chain her up, torment and torture her, and ultimately hang her, all while calling her a "bitch." In fact, I challenge you to time all the deaths in the film. Hers is the only one that takes longer to see, as the camera lingers pornographically on first her bloodied, prostrate frame and then on her wide eyes as she is slowly strangled from the rafters. Hers is the only death in the film that is not only witnessed by the camera, but celebrated. And if you think I'm being oversensitive, check out the only other two women in the film: Both are black, kind and hospitable and endearing, and both are coldly murdered after just a few minutes of screen time.

Still not convinced that this movie is ugly? Let's try the racial slurs that fly around like the snow outside. At least Django Unchained had historical and dramatic reasons for its incessant use of "nigger", and at least the leading black character in that story enacted revenge on the evil white slaveowners. I already knew Tarantino loved that word almost as much as blood, but I wasn't prepared for its tedious and provocative use here. I was also unprepared for Tarantino's lazy and crude flourish before intermission, when Jackson's character recalls, with perverted relish, capturing, raping, and murdering a white man who is revealed to be the son of another one of the so-called hateful eight/nine (being Bruce Dern's character, a former Confederate general). The story, whether true or untrue, serves its purpose in leading to the general's death.

But it's an oddly childish scene, with two stellar actors tossing insults at each other like snowballs. Jackson's lengthy monologue describing his prodigious penis is both stupid and unnerving to hear and to contemplate. Jackson's manic and watery eyes bulge and shimmer while Bruce Dern looks on in horror, and meanwhile I was yawning. It was, like the rape scene in Pulp Fiction, an obvious and lackluster attempt by Tarantino to make us wonder, "Wow, I can't believe we're going there," and applaud the director's use of taboo. But what it also does is perpetuate that very taboo. It creates a spectacle out of a tragedy, simply for audience reaction. It strips away any guise of historical accuracy or political commentary from that moment, and reveals the man behind the curtain: Tarantino, self-appointed knight in white, who sweeps in from a place of privilege to rescue the bitch and nigger and faggot from their weaknesses and then display them as trophies, whereby he may further declare himself a friend of the "underdog".

In fact, this film was so insensitive and ironic, that I'm questioning almost all of Tarantino's declared solidarity with oppressed people. Sure, some of his movies are revenge flicks of women, Jews, and American slaves; but I'm wondering what's really at work in them, if this new vision is a culmination of their disparate messages. For the first time in a Tarantino film, I don't see any moral framework whatsoever. I don't see any justification, causation, or even merit to the evils at work. Instead, I see a gleeful pit of vipers, slithering over each other as they bite, wallowing in the venom and the gore, and ultimately crying out not for compassion but for still more violence.

Ultimately, this film is little more than a dare. A cruel dare made by a man who feels impervious to criticism. He is daring us to hate this film. He is daring us to declare our hate, and then wallow in it while his hardcore fans will no doubt object to criticisms like mine with a simple, "Of course it's an ugly movie, just look at the title! Hateful!" As if, as long as the production team admits its ideological faults, it's okay to put trash onscreen. As if being offended by that trash makes us prudish. As if we should either get off on these images of gore and filth or challenge him and all he declares to be righteous. In fact, as I begin to glimpse that man behind the curtain, I suspect that his much-lauded style of lavish sensation is little more than just that. That his only goal in filmmaking is sensation. I suspect that his years of identifying with underdogs and minorities and outsiders is little more than a ploy to get acclaim and praise for the same trash he'd be making anyway.

I don't see Leigh, in this movie, as a strong female role in a man's movie, holding her own and fighting back; I see Tarantino holding a misogynist leash and pretending that the woman on the end is a trophy. I don't see Jackson here as an ironic counterpoint to our cultural discussion on racism; I see Tarantino in blackface using language that he has no business using. Tarantino is daring me to hate The Hateful Eight. I don't. But I don't have to like it.

P.S. There are elements of the film I do like. Channing Tatum in the wild west is one. Ennio Morricone's fabulous score is another. And frankly, some of Tarantino's dialogue is one. My issue with that last one comes in when we don't have, for example, Christoph Waltz and his icy, ironic eloquence to deliver it. It also comes in when Tarantino himself thinks his dialogue is the best ever when, actually, it's not. He should read some O'Neill if he wants to do another long day's journey like this.

IMDb: The Hateful Eight

Star Wars: The Force Awakens (2015)

Score: 3 / 5

**Fair warning: I don't care about spoilers for myself, so I won't worry about censoring my thoughts here. If you haven't seen the film, and get violent when someone else reveals plot points, stop reading now. You should also probably just avoid the Internet until you've seen the movie.**

The most obnoxiously advertised movie event of the year, the new Star Wars regime opened with great fanfare and packed auditoriums. If you had the pleasure (?) of seeing it opening weekend, you no doubt shared with the enthusiasm of the multitudes as I did, and cheered aloud at appropriate points. It's undoubtedly a fierce spectacle, dazzling in its precision and flair, encouraged by the sentiment and nostalgia brought to it by both filmmakers and audiences.

There isn't much I can say specifically in praise of the movie, because technically it's pretty darn fabulous. The effects are killer, the score is lovely, the production design is interesting, and the camerawork is fine. There are some sizable holes in plot and characterizations, but as a part of a planned trilogy, I can't really fault the film for that; we can certainly expect to know more with the next installment. That said, I always prefer films (as sequels, prequels, and trilogies too!) to be able to stand on their own. I'm not so sure this one does. There's almost no exposition and new ideas pop up without preparation or, sometimes, merit. For example, early in the film, villain Kylo Ren uses the Force to stop a blaster's fire in midair. When has that ever been a thing? And apparently a renewed Empire (the obtusely named "First Order") has taken charge, led yet again by a mysterious Sith, though we don't know anything about what happened after the fall of the Empire in Return of the Jedi. I guess time will tell. But in most of these respects, The Force Awakens is very reminiscent of A New Hope.

Of course, it's also reminiscent of A New Hope in ways that aren't so admirable. In fact, a few times I wondered if I wasn't just watching a remake of that iconic first film. I'm not saying that's a bad thing, but I felt thoroughly disappointed at least half a dozen times in this movie. I mean, where's the creativity? If I wanted to see a poor orphan on a desert planet looking for adventure, a masked magic man with a sinister artificial voice, a superweapon the size of a planet, or a mysterious alien whose short stature belies supernatural knowledge, I could have watched the originals.

And before you start saying, "Well, it's better than the prequels," think again. I've never had a serious problem with the prequels, and I've not heard many sound arguments against them, other than personal preference. Sure, Jar Jar Binks is the worst, but so were the Ewoks. Sure, Darth Maul dies in the first movie, but so did Alec Guinness. No, I think the real reason people like the prequels less is because the script and its themes are far more complex and aloof; in having to rapidly expand the galaxy and its denizens, the prequels have precious little of the raw humor and "realistic" sense that defined the originals. Which is fine in my books, but not so with everybody. But that humor and grounded awareness is what J. J. Abrams's new film has in abundance, thereby winning over so many original fans. For example, when one tough pilot is dropped before the intimidating figure of Kylo Ren (Adam Driver), he glances up and asks who speaks first. It's the little moments like this that present us with a believable sense of humor, one that sparkles with wit amidst operatic galactic warfare.

In any case, it's not this film's (lack of) creativity that's winning anybody over. For all their editing faults and effects-heavy spectacle, the prequels matched the originals in sheer imagination and creative output. The Force Awakens just looks like Abrams's scrapbook of images and sensations from the original movies, recycled in order to win over doubters. I might add that, as a fan of the original expanded universe, there were extensive plotlines established before, after, and during the films' plotlines, written in both novels and graphic novels. I love reading the books, so it's a little hard for me to swallow that virtually all of them are suddenly irrelevant. That's a barrier I'll have to overcome on my own, but it certainly made me bitter while watching this new movie. Of all the brilliant stories and characters in the expanded universe, to have the filmmakers here just pirate plot points and images from an old movie is pretty irritating. But I suppose that's just a matter of personal preference, not unlike the disdain some feel toward the prequels.

Maybe I'm harping on something that doesn't matter much. Maybe the new Empire (Disney?) is planning on making the second and third films (plus more, apparently? God, I hope it's not overkill) wildly novel and imaginative, so they had to make this one familiar. I guess we'll have to wait for episode eight. For now, it's a nice excursion, and one that promises even more boons in the coming years. And speaking of boons, let's praise the amazing cast ( and casting director) here for a moment. Yay, the movie isn't only full of white people! Yay, we have a badass female protagonist! Yay, Oscar Isaac is my favorite! But seriously, the cast is great and their work is great, especially the newbies. I'll happily follow any mainstream sci-fi adventure with a cast that can impress me this much this quickly. Focal point: My favorite scene in the film is when Rey (Daisy Ridley) and Finn (John Boyega) are attempting to fix the Falcon, and BB-8 is withholding the location of the Rebel base. It's a fast and charming verbal dance between the three, and one that had me giggling for minutes afterward. It's scenes like that that won me over. Let's hope Abrams has more of those up his sleeve.

Here's a list of other objections some have had with this new film. Some are far more problematic than others, but generally I felt most of these ideas while watching the picture. Check it out: http://www.deathandtaxesmag.com/274463/episode-vii-sucks/.

IMDb: The Force Awakens

In the Heart of the Sea (2015)

Score: 4 / 5

There were three movies I was most looking forward to this year. Jurassic World, The Revenant, and this one. The first exceeded my expectations, the second probably will. This one was a fine film, and it didn't really disappoint, so at least there's that.

I haven't read the book, but I knew most of the story. And, of course, Moby-Dick is one of my favorite books. But I think this movie is getting pretty mild reviews because viewers are expecting an epic like Moby-Dick. FUN FACT: This isn't an adaptation of Moby-Dick. So if you, like the multitude of critics out there, are expecting a sweeping odyssey for god and glory, for vengeance and vanity, you can skip this movie rather than bash it.

Ultimately, this is a pretty intimate film. Focused on the crew of the Essex and its doomed voyage in the desert-like mid-Pacific, this film concerns itself with practical matters and personal conflicts. Benjamin Walker (Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter), Chris Hemsworth, and Cillian Murphy play the captain and mates of the ship, ever at odds and determined to lead the crew to success. Of course, one poor decision leads to another, and eventually the crew find themselves adrift in small whaling boats on trackless seas, preyed upon by a whale with a vendetta. Madness and desperation follow, as the men roast under an equatorial sun and resort to cannibalism to survive. The performances are intense and focused, and their physical transformations are no small wonder. Of course, their accents are all over the board, and Hemsworth's is cringe-worthy at times, but it's not the worst sin imaginable.

Especially wonderful in the film are Ben Whishaw as Herman Melville and Brendan Gleeson as Thomas Nickerson, Melville's main source in crafting his masterpiece. I could have hardly asked for more this holiday season than seeing Whishaw and Gleeson sitting opposite each other, each tearing up as the story unfolds, each battling inner demons. And young wonder Tom Holland (The Impossible, Wolf Hall) holds his own amidst the grown men. Unfortunately, there is little time to dwell on any particular character, as the film is rather action/adventure oriented, and the script is so streamlined.

We move along at a quick clip, which is fine in encompassing a journey that takes at least a year (I lost count of the subtitles and voice-overs declaring that yet 3 more months had passed), but it certainly limits the impact of themes at work. Though the film certainly plays with themes from Moby-Dick, such as suggesting divine or demonic motivations behind the antagonist, the abilities of men in the face of nature, and the relativity of sanity, it never really delves deeply into any of them. I suppose that's alright, and it more effectively informs the character Melville's final moments of dialogue.

I could wax ad nauseam on the tonal curiosities (and, at least in my opinion, ambiguities) of the film, and my feelings about them, both positive and negative. But I won't here, because it will take me at least another viewing to understand how the film works as a whole. But I would like to talk a bit about Ron Howard. Though many of his films tend to be tonally, well, curious and inconsistent, there can be little doubt about his aesthetic approach to each film. Like a chameleon, he alters his visual style for each picture; always distinctive, always different. This film is no different, as it takes an almost handheld approach to the action on the high seas, shaking from point of interest to point of interest with great speed and gritty hyperrealism. Dipping below the waves and above, we are always reminded by the camera that we are in the heat of the action. Interspersed are a few wide shots that remind us how small these men are in the vast stretches of ocean. There are also no small amount of curious close-ups to details -- a quill in an inkwell, the wheel that pulls the anchor, the tip of a harpoon -- as well as super close-ups to faces. I'm not sure why Howard strung together so many  different kinds of shots in such specific ways, but my impression was simply that of hyperrealism and of drawing the audience in. Every shot is gritty and often even the lens is dirty or water-spotted. I expect this is simply to satisfy the 3-D crowd, but I found it effective in 2-D as well.

This isn't going to be a big award winner, but I expect it to at least get a nomination for production design, special effects, and maybe cinematography, make-up, and score. Maybe even adapted screenplay, but as I said, I haven't read the source material. It's certainly a worthwhile film to see in theaters, and sure to please everyone who likes action, adventure, drama, history, and cannibalism.

IMDb: In the Heart of the Sea

Krampus (2015)

Score: 4 / 5

If you know me at all, you probably know that Halloween is my favorite holiday. If you know me well, you probably know that my favorite Halloween movie is Trick 'r Treat, the 2007 festive anthology film directed by Michael Dougherty. Its brilliant script, flawless pacing, subversive themes, and dark humor make it a perfect celebration of the holiday as well as an effective horror flick. It's a spellbinding concoction that ties together traditional tropes with terrifying new ideas, all presented with a vicious glee and fierce understanding of the cult audience it aims for.

When I heard that Dougherty was making a Christmas movie -- and that it took its title from the Germanic character of legend -- I was ecstatic. I was thinking that he would make the same kind of film, just shifted to focus on Christmas.

That's not what he did.

Don't get me wrong. I thoroughly enjoyed the film. But in enjoying it, I had to take several factors into account. To begin with: It's a Christmas movie. That implies, by definition, a certain sentimentality, and often a distinctly campy flair. Just look at the remake, Black X-Mas (2006), which largely ignores the raw horror of the 1974 original and replaces it with a (no less terrifying) materialistic vision of the holiday, replete with stupid characters under hallucinatory holiday lights, decorations and treats turned into weapons, and a dazzling set design drenched in kitsch and blood. Krampus shares a similar flair, from its opening sequence of a department store holiday fight in slow motion, to an almost giddy sensation we feel as demonic toys devour the children on Christmas night. It's a full-fledged horror comedy, but the comedy is tempered by sentiment and the horror is tempered by a PG-13 rating.

Maybe I just don't understand some bizarre subtleties of the film, but it also just doesn't always make sense. It's as though Dougherty, in order to keep his PG-13 rating, was forced to tone down the sheer horror of the film, and so instead he just smashed the little bits of horror he had to spare into a relatively tight frame of time, to make the film more fast-paced and kinetic, and thereby more "exciting". If only he had been able to take his time and let the horror unfold on its own terms, the film might be able to stand on its own a bit better. As it is, it feels like a snowy fever dream wrapped up in a nice bow and placed under a tree. It's a little too nice for its own good.

And maybe I'm just a bit desensitized, or maybe I'm just hungry for another sacrilegious Christmas movie after so long, but I really think pushing the rating up to an R would have helped. At first I thought extending the running time would have helped, but a 90-something minute horror film is generally enough time to work some magic. But with an R, we could have had that little bit of violence that might make certain characters' deaths more believable, or at least less silly. We also could have had a bit more real child endangerment (which is, unless I'm mistaken, a central point to the Krampus myth anyway), which might sound callous, but when the characters end up simply swallowed whole by monsters, it's about as "terrifying" as seeing the Sarlaac eat Boba Fett. Which is to say, not.

There are some real gems in here, though. There's a sequence (my favorite in the picture) where Omi, the grandmother, relates a story from her youth, in which her family was tormented by Krampus for losing the spirit of Christmas before being dragged to hell. The sequence looks not unlike the Tale of Three Brothers from Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Part 1, being an animated scene with amber lighting and apparently 2-D shadow puppets. And between sequences of gingerbread men attacking the family, and dark elves peering at them from behind wicked-looking snowmen (that I'm pretty sure come straight from Calvin and Hobbes: Attack of the Deranged Mutant Killer Monster Snow Goons), I was never not utterly entertained. There's another moment when a character first sees the figure of Krampus, perched atop a snow-covered roof, which then gives chase by leaping across roofs as the girl runs, screaming, to her fate. Oh, and the design of Krampus is brilliant. Just spectacular. If only he had a more direct role in the film, and not his many minions. Alas.

I guess my final takeaway here is that it's the little things that matter. There are a lot of little homages here, from an attack with a nail gun (from the Evil Dead remake) to the dreamlike ending (A Nightmare on Elm Street), and from the sister's unpleasant family (Christmas Vacation) to Krampus's calling card (The Polar Express), the film is full of conversation for cinephiles. It'll take me a couple more viewings, I'm sure, to catch all the details. That's one area where Dougherty did not fail me here.

So, if you're going to see this one, try and go in expecting a comedy. That's mostly what it is, albeit a dark comedy, and one with some fantasy fun and a strong theme of family. Toni Collette and Adam Scott are a charming couple, and do a damn fine job as parents caught in chaos. And if you're expecting fun, the scare elements will be far more effective in adding some chills to your cold winter nights.

IMDb: Krampus

Victor Frankenstein (2015)

Score: 3.5 / 5

I don't know that I've ever seen a Gothic comedy before, but this might be one. Based on corruptions of the titular horror character, this film is a sort of Frankenstein's monster itself, a hodgepodge mishmash of themes and tropes that, stitched together with simple and silly thread, skip off to a dark ruined castle to live happily never after. It's horror and comedy, science fiction and period drama, whipped up together with a frenzied cinematic approach not unlike film adaptations of graphic novels (I would compare its style to, for example,2003's The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen, or even the 2009 Sherlock Holmes). It's got a strange sort of Grand Guignol flavor amidst its kinetic action and dramatic charm. And if that doesn't sound interesting to you, stop reading and go watch the holiday Hallmark specials.

I'm not saying the script is very good. It strikes a rather uncertain tonal chord, and wallows in the third act, when the Big Picture themes come to a rain-drenched, violent head. But the first half of the film is delightful, bouncing between the great talents of a surprising array of actors, including Charles Dance, Jessica Brown Findlay, and a deliciously wicked Andrew Scott as the religious police inspector hell-bent on stopping Frankenstein's sacrilegious experiments. But the real stars here are, well, the stars: James McAvoy and Daniel Radcliffe are miracle-workers here, reviving a flaccid script and generously supplying it with wit, charm, and no small amount of homoerotic undertones. If you had told me that Professor Xavier and Harry Potter would have mad chemistry, I would have laughed at you, but now I've seen the error of my ways.

The opening sequence is by far my favorite in the film. An aspiring romantic, nameless hunchback (Radcliffe) is slaving away in a London circus until the girl he loves (Findlay) falls during her aerial routine. He saves her with a doctor in the audience (McAvoy), who recognizes the hunchback's medical prowess and rescues him from the cruel circus. The sequence sets up the fevered pace of the film, its colorful and campy style, and the gritty nature of the violent material. Immediately after, the kindly doctor takes the hunchback to his home, names him Igor, and treats his physical plights by draining a cyst and fashioning a harness to right his posture. I found it hard to stop giggling between Radcliffe's frightened vulnerability, McAvoy's ferocity and speed (à la Rob Downey Jr.), the one-liners and action-genre camerawork, and the stylized animation that is meant to represent the medical diagrams through which these characters view their world.

Perhaps the reason I so liked the film is that, even when the script descends into sentiment and stupidity, the sheer spectacle of the performances and visual style remain intensely silly. That is to say, I could scarcely judge the stupid because I was so charmed by the silly. The film feels like it could be a mockery of the whole genre, a disturbed satire of the Frankenstein myth, or a sensational fever dream of artists who understand that spectacle, when handled intelligently, can supersede poor content.

IMDb: Victor Frankenstein

Secret in Their Eyes (2015)

Score: 4 / 5

I'm not really sure why this is the second film adaptation of Eduardo Sacheri's 2005 novel in five years, so I understand a lot of its criticism. And frankly, I think the Oscar-winning Argentine film is better in terms of cinematography and editing. I'll cite that film's "chase" scene in the soccer stadium as evidence, and there's little more that can be said about that.

However redundant it may feel, though, I really rather liked this American adaptation. The camerawork and pacing isn't as tight as it could be, though the film has a gritty realism that evokes late-90s/early-00s crime dramas, which I find interesting. Of course, unlike the Argentine film, this close-up heavy approach also gives the impression that the film is a subdued and meditative version of any number of serial police procedurals on television. I'm sure that people who regularly watch shows like Law & Order or SVU or any of the other masses of similar shows will find this movie to be dull, a bland and pale shadow of what it could be.

But for those of us who do not watch those programs, the film presents a grim portrait of four individuals who are inexorably bound to a single rape-murder case, and how their obsession with it changes, unites, and ultimately haunts their lives. The back-and-forth dual plotline dictated by the source material is fairly well handled, and the plot translates surprisingly well to the criminal justice system in urban America. We see a team of FBI investigators (Julia Roberts, Chiwetel Ejiofor, Dean Norris) and their DA overseer (Nicole Kidman) brought together during their heightened watch for terrorism when one of the investigator's daughters is found murdered in a dumpster. Fears of terrorism (the film takes place not long after 9/11) dictate the legal process, and soon after the wrong men are convicted for the crime. Thirteen years later, though their lives have drifted apart, the team is brought back together to continue their quest. One by one, the team compromises their duties to illegally find the man responsible and bring him to justice.

It doesn't have the Gothic sensibilities of, for example, Prisoners (2013) but the film plays its cards close to the chest and favors the performances of its stars. Ejiofor and Roberts are typically incredible, delivering pitch-perfect characters in moments of daring vulnerability and surprising autonomy. I mean, it's nice to see a cast of relatively diverse characters in the legal system determining for themselves the right path to justice in accordance with their own values. My favorite scene is when Kidman's character -- an otherwise straight-laced and stern business woman -- attempts to stop Ejiofor from illegally questioning the suspect. She notices the suspect's lingering sexual stare, and nonverbally decides to turn the tables on him, using her suddenly exploited sexuality to degrade him until he confesses. It's a daring move, and one that Kidman delivers with great boons. If you know what I mean.

As I say, it's not a great film. Sure, it's a little tame, a little predictable, and a little redundant. In fact, some of the moments on screen are exact replicas of their corresponding Argentine scenes, something that is obviously intentional but, in my opinion, misguided. But it's rarely a bad thing to throw some A-listers into a smart crime thriller together and let them play it out with their respective strengths. And you could hardly ask for a more wide-eyed, introspective cast for a film about secrets in people's eyes.

IMDb: Secret in Their Eyes

Spectre (2015)

Score: 4 / 5

Confession: I'd never seen a Bond film until last weekend. And all three of the ones I watched starred Daniel Craig. So if that makes you judge me, I'll understand.

My opinions? Casino Royale is brilliant, Quantum of Solace is not, and Skyfall is almost perfect. Am I sad Judi Dench's character is dead? Hell yes. Am I happy that Sam Mendes came back to direct Spectre? Hell yes.

But he couldn't improve on what he did in Skyfall. Don't get me wrong -- Spectre is damn good. In fact, I'd argue that the opening scene in Mexico City is one of the best single scenes I've seen yet this year. The longshot, the costumes, the stuntwork are all stunning. It's a dazzling and arresting way to start any film, and it feels perfect for our leading man's persona. Just when I thought it couldn't get any better, Craig jumps aboard a helicopter for a surprisingly well-edited fight in the sky above the crowded square. Following the spectacle is a delicious theme song delivered by Sam Smith to a beautifully stylized opening credit roll.

But not long after the opening scene, the film retreats into a formulaic pattern. It's still one of the better spy/action movies I've ever seen, but it's not as daring or resounding as its predecessor. Perhaps the reason for my lack of enthusiasm lies in the film's inflated sense of self-importance. Christoph Waltz plays Franz Oberhauser, the villain who is apparently the mastermind behind the events of the three previous films. It's almost as if the filmmakers thought this kind of contrived plot device would make the film more Important or Critical, which is silly at best. Lines like "the architect of all your pain" made me snort out loud, which I'm guessing was not intended by the filmmakers. And then, to make matters worse, they include a scene that goes beyond accepting Oberhauser as a shadowy crazy mastermind criminal by giving him a personal vendetta against Bond: After Bond was orphaned, Oberhauser's father became his guardian while Franz grew jealous and overreacted by killing his father, staging his own death, and changing his name before founding the huge terrorist organization Spectre.

That seems more like the basis of an opera, or maybe a comic book. Not an otherwise intelligent and sophisticated spy thriller. I'm sure it works for some audiences, but it just doesn't for me. It makes the whole film trite and banal, a simple cat-and-mouse on global scale, featuring Waltz in a role that ignores his talents and hinders his dramatic potential from being realized. I think I was just disappointed because the opening sequence was so sharp, and the opening credits so provocative with its images of an octopus over everything, and it all turned out to be a gimmick. I felt that I'd been had, and that the filmmakers -- desperate to one-up themselves -- had layered it on way too thick.

However, the film does feature more screen time for Ralph Fiennes as M and Ben Whishaw as Q, which is never a bad thing. It also finds a much more compelling villain in Andrew Scott as C, the head of the Joint Intelligence Service, who is struggling for power with M and pushing for global surveillance system "Nine Eyes". By the time Oberhauser admits to be behind the push for Nine Eyes, we are hardly surprised, and by the time C is revealed to be in league with him we are just waiting for the confrontation. But Scott himself is delicious in the role, and I would only have liked more screen time for him.

The camerawork is just as good as in Skyfall, as is cinematographer Hoyte van Hoytema's use of colors and striking visuals. We don't get a surprise appearance from Albert Finney or his ilk in this one, but we'll survive that. And I think some of the action sequences of this film might be the best in the series, because Hoytema and editor Lee Smith never let the action get lost in handheld frenzy or quickly edited snapshots. Everything is long and steady, and it makes viewing much easier and the action more effectively elegant. All in all, it's a fine film, a little given over to its own self-aggrandized importance but only rarely indulgent. I'd watch it any day over Quantum of Solace.

IMDb: Spectre

Mockingjay: Part Two (2015)

Score: 4.5 / 5

I find these films -- probably the only series about which I'll say such things -- to be far more enjoyable than the simple prose of the novels on which they are based. And while the two parts of Mockingjay may not be have the fastest pace or the most daring action sequences of most modern young adult dystopian fiction, I find them to be fiercely intelligent and resourceful in mining the source material and in delivering satisfying results to their audience. The split also allows more time for us to focus on the great character developments that happen during the otherwise high speed, plot-driven events of the story. So I'm not really sure why people keep complaining about that.

As for Part Two specifically, it's brilliant. Not as breakneck as Catching Fire, not as meditative as Mockingjay Part One, it allows the various elements of the series to simmer together in a harsh treatment of escalating warfare. Its topical relevance shines through perhaps best in the moment when the rebels bomb a mountain, effectively burying the enemy soldiers and civilians inside together. The following scene between the escaping survivors and the rebel army led by Katniss. It's hard and it's complicated and it's wonderful. There's also a few beautiful moments as Coin leads her people to victory, and Katniss watches and suspects that her aim is less noble than she had first imagined.

Nothing in this movie quite matches the fierce brilliance of the scene in Part One of Gale and the rebels sneaking into the Capitol to save Peeta while Donald Sutherland drones in voiceover. However, Part Two skillfully avoids overdoing the special effects and getting caught up in its own exciting energy. In fact, there is really only one particularly violent sequence in this film that I can recall. It's also probably the most violent scene in the series, and one that I had some trouble watching. It happens in the sewers, where our team of heroes is attacked by monstrous white lizard-men in a terrifying melee that had me covering my eyes. Mad props to director Francis Lawrence, because it's got to be one of the most stunning fight sequences I've seen in a film since The Return of the King. Not because it's particularly intelligent, but rather because it's so fast, surprising, and long; it's an extended sequence that has absolutely no moments of relief. Even when they climb up the ladder and escape the lizards, seemingly in peace to mourn the deaths of their friends, sharp metal drills start popping up from the exploding floor beneath them.

Perhaps part of the reason I so loved the sequence is because the film until then is pretty tame. It's not slow, exactly, but more meditative and emotional like in Part One. Even when Katniss and her team get into the Capitol and maneuver its booby-traps, it's not a particularly action-y movie. Which, by the way, is great. It makes the climax that much more effective.

And speaking of the climax, I'm not exactly sure where it was in this movie. Which is also great. Because, as the finale to the series, the whole damn thing is a bit of a climax. Rather like the eighth Harry Potter film, this picture more or less begins with the climax and ends up with an extended resolution. Actually, in a sense, it feels like The Return of the King, with several denouement scenes that let the story end with a nice little flourish. Maybe the epilogue scene was a bit much, but it's a sweet little nod to the book. I noticed several people in the theater squirming to leave after the "climax" (I say that's the execution scene, because Donald Sutherland's face and laughter is devastating), because it's hard for some people to stay seated when there's nothing "exciting" left. It's sad, but the film manages those squirmers gracefully.

What else can I say? J-Law is fantastic. I'm glad we saw more of Josh Hutcherson in this one. I'd have liked to see Elizabeth Banks and Woody Harrelson more, but the story isn't really about them any more. Julianne Moore is great and we can always use more of her, and the moments with Philip Seymour Hoffman gave me all of the feelings. The camerawork is strong, the editing stronger, and I have no big complaints. It's a fine film, and a fine ending to the series.

**
I should probably qualify my earlier claim that I prefer these movies to their source material. I like the books fine, and I'm not saying they're bad. The prose is simple, straightforward, and first person. These fit the concept Collins was going for, and I can't fault them, except to say that I don't like that style in prose. I'm also conflicted with the fact that the intense and violent story is clearly marketed for young people; sure, the protagonist is also that age, but ultimately The Hunger Games is an extended Lord of the Flies, and Mockingjay is nothing short of a war novel (I'm thinking of a Tim O'Brien novel or two). I'm just not sure parents and teachers should be letting middle schoolers loose on this kind of material without accompanying conversations and context.

That said, I also have a little bit of misgivings about the films being PG-13. Much like the books being marketed for kids (I assume this might be why they are not particularly descriptive), the films are being marketed for kids. The MPAA rating stops the films from going into really dynamic territory (the moment in Mockingjay when Katniss randomly shoots a Capitol woman before she can speak; the bloody murder of a random girl in the streets by a shower of bullets). Ultimately these films take on a hue of polished Hollywood young adult sci-fi fiction rather than a raw, brutal war film.

I don't really have a coherent opinion on this franchise, obviously. But these are my main considerations.

IMDb: Mockingjay: Part Two

Bridge of Spies (2015)

Score: 4.5 / 5

The most wonderful things about this movie are all of the things I was not expecting. Frankly, I was sort of dreading it because Spielberg is really hit-or-miss with me, and I also worried this would be another Tom Hanks vehicle like Captain Phillips (which, for reference, I intensely dislike). But from the outset, Bridge of Spies sets itself up as a solid and simple old-fashioned spy drama with heavy style. It's brilliant.

If you're looking for action and melodrama, you might want to pass this one up. Spielberg really subdued his usual bravado here, even more so than in his 2012 Lincoln talker, and manages to twist many expectations we might have about American war movies in the wake of American Sniper and its problematic ilk. Bridge of Spies is about paranoia, and Spielberg lets his film simmer in the dark for a long time until it boils over in the third act. It's totally by the book, but it supports the material and feels about as satisfying as a John le Carré thriller.

Tom Hanks is his usual charming self, complete with wit and vulnerability -- though perhaps too much vulnerability -- and carries the picture well. But the real gem here is Mark Rylance, portraying an alleged Soviet spy in America. He gives his role only a hint of emotion, and lets his soft-spoken, witty, ironic performance steal the whole movie right away. He delivers his lines with a wispy, singsong voice and makes manifest an incredibly complicated character: one who refuses to lie in a world, by definition, structured by deception. It's a brave move, and one that succeeds fabulously. I usually don't like it when I feel filmmakers tugging at my heartstrings, but by the ending of this film, Rylance deserved my little sob. I should also mention Mikhail Gorevoy, playing a Soviet ambassador, who thrilled and chilled me with his piercing eyes and conniving hiss. I quite hope to see him in more movies.

Clocking in at nearly two and a half hours, the film plays for the long haul. But it's never particularly slow. Hardly a scene passes without some new concept or insight into the trials, bureaucracy, politics, and legality we witness. In fact, I would argue it's an unusually streamlined film, in terms of plot, for a spy movie. In the last decade or two, the genre has had trouble staying afloat if there aren't huge plot twists or spectacular fight scenes. But this movie proves that major studios still can make a damn good film that's not ridiculously complicated, sexy, or violent. Sometimes it just takes a bit of meditation on theme and relevance. Some of my favorite moments are simply a result of super-subtle period camerawork. Others (and ones that I will pick up more during more viewings) are the result of editing that juxtaposes conflicting ideas. There's a moment when the Soviet spy goes into court, and as the bailiff commands that "All rise," we jump to a classroom of children rising and reciting the American pledge of allegiance before watching videos about nuclear bombs. There's another lengthy scene that repeatedly mirrors the treatment of the Soviet spy in America with an American spy in Russia. It's scenes like these that help save the film from being mindlessly Americanized (still bitterly thinking of American Sniper) while gently provoking thoughtful conversation over cocktails afterward. Don't get me wrong, it's a movie about an average (if highly intelligent) white American for average white American audiences, but at least it doesn't totally ignore the moral and legal ambiguities and compromises war forces us all into.

IMDb: Bridge of Spies

Steve Jobs (2015)

Score: 5 / 5

I have done exactly no research into the making of this movie or its namesake, so I can't say how realistic the film is. But I can say that the film is perhaps the most consistently engrossing movie I've seen this year. Credit for that goes mostly to writer Aaron Sorkin, whose dialogue is so rich, dense, and kinetic that I occasionally found it hard to breathe in the auditorium. Rarely have I sat through a film with such profound dialogue; I think the last I recall was 2013's August: Osage County.

The film has been advertised as a biography, but in fact it is a fiercely theatrical character study into a superstar's complex backstage life and the demands that ravage his soul. We see our hero (or, arguably, antihero) in three acts, each time only minutes before unveiling a new product, and caught in operatic rhetorical and logistical battles with various members of his personal and professional lives. It's a daring concept for a film, but Sorkin's feverish dialogue burns so quickly and with such brilliance I completely lost myself to it.

The astounding range of the dialogue is matched impressively by director Danny Boyle, who restrains his often peripatetic photography and editing here. He keeps things close and intimate, clean and colorful, and manages to house Sorkin's language in a chamber piece worthy of operatic energy. By the third act, the realism and restraint of the film has been largely cast aside, and Boyle casts us with the characters into a centrifuge of memories, abstracts, and passions. Its final heartstring tugs notwithstanding, the film lets us out of the experience with a more or less pure understanding of the paradoxical heart inside the machine. It's a daring concept for a film, and one the artists deliver in each scene.

Michael Fassbender as the titular character fashions his own distinctive conversational rhythms and marries them to fierce facial expressions and body language almost as inspired as the dialogue itself. He carries the film with apparent ease, though his performance is so raw I can scarcely imagine the lengths he went to in research and practice. Kate Winslet almost manages to match him in energy and skill, but her limited screen time hinders her. With her fabulous Polish accent and lightning delivery, she parries Fassbender's cruelties and queries in biting style.

I don't really know what else to say about this movie. It's dense, intimate, calculated, intense, and grandiose. It's an opera about power and money and fame and love and family and passion. Most important, it's surprisingly beautiful.

IMDb: Steve Jobs

Crimson Peak (2015)

Score: 4.5 / 5

The first thing you should know about Crimson Peak is that it's not a scary movie. It's a horror picture. More than that, it's a period piece Gothic romance. So if you're going to the movies this Halloween looking for shrieks and giggles, you are going to be severely disappointed. If, however, you are going to be reminded of the potential beauty in haunted house films, to revel in the glory of expert filmmaking, or to lose yourself in a macabre fantasy of passion and evil, you can do no better than Guillermo del Toro's latest vision.

From its shockingly white opening image, this film sets itself apart as an atmospheric venture not unlike this summer's Mad Max: Fury Road. We are presented then, in increasingly vibrant strokes, with an immaculately designed period piece shimmering with intricate details and daring lighting. Not a moment passes by onscreen in which the nightmarish hues don't burn themselves into your eyes, forcing you to watch the horror unfold. Of course, the real spectacle here is the house itself, a masterwork of architecture and special effects, riddled with carvings and tapestries, and oozing sanguineous clay. The house is alive, shifting and swaying, "breathing" and groaning, and in almost every scene the red mud that gave the property its name ekes out from under floorboards and behind brick walls. It's a surprisingly eerie special effect, something I would have expected (less tastefully) from a Burton film.

I could continue to praise the production design, but I think you get the idea. The other aspects of the film are all solid, though nothing particularly noteworthy. It's a very familiar story, with simple and conventional plot devices that ultimately lead to an unsurprising and totally satisfying ending. I might have wished that del Toro could have spiced up the drama or the supernatural elements, but there's a lot to be said for balancing a tried-and-true plot with a daring aesthetic. The dialogue is great, and the plot moves along at a brisk pace with enough evenly-paced thrills to keep things effectively spooky.

Jessica Chastain is far and away the crowning jewel of the film. Her cruel gaze and calculating restraint is disturbing from the outset, and frankly her dresses steal every damn scene. As ravishing as she is haunting, Chastain injects her character with seething malice so delicious I was ready to cheer for her in the film's climax. Tom Hiddleston parries her every move with equally calculating energy, though his burns the sweeter. His dynamic turn (and beauty) makes the film's climax far more satisfying, as he and Chastain wholly give themselves over to their perfect Gothic sensibilities. Mia Wasikowska is less satisfying than the other two, though she does work hard for her starring role. It's hard to watch the mesermizing subtleties of Hiddleston and Chastain, and then want to pay attention to Wasikowska's constantly pained expression as she wanders the evil house. I suppose, given her character's profound misfortune, I shouldn't fault her for that, but it just doesn't make for an interesting character. And her designer didn't help, placing her in a shapeless pale nightgown for most of the film and leaving her long stringy blond hair to fly around her puffy shoulders. Does it work to make our hero appear a floating white cloud? Yes. But the ghosts cut a more imposing figure on screen, which is probably not a good thing.

Speaking of the ghosts, I was a little put off by some of the CGI. I mean, thank heaven the ghosts were as stylized as the rest of the film, but perhaps a bit more variation would have sufficed. Neon-red skeletons floating out of pools of clay are creepy, sure, but only when you see them once or twice. After the sixth time, it's a bit less effective. Rather, let's go back to the first scene, where we see an ebony ghost, desiccated and smoking, palpably haunting the little girl's sleep. Much more enticing for me than a parade of bright phantoms floating in the air and pointing to various parts of the house.

Then again, the jump-scares of the ghosts only last a brief time, and it is not long before the real terror of the film introduces itself. Sure, the horror comes from spousal lies, devious plans, and murderous motives, but the terror is far different than I expected. The ghostly pop-outs are creepy, but cannot hold a candle to the surprising brutality that commands the film from the halfway point on. The physical violence, all captured on the screen, is often so surprising and vicious I had to close my eyes more than once. And the blood that ends up spilled is obviously the darker side of the "Crimson Peak" imagery.

It's "The Fall of the House of Usher" meets The Haunting, with a Tim Burton-level flair and a rock-solid aesthetic vision. Can you beat it? Hell no. Chastain's performance during the climax is easily the most terrifying thing I've seen in months. Del Toro's attention to detail and mastery of the genre is unparalleled. I lost myself to this nightmare, and I would gladly do it again.

IMDb: Crimson Peak

Pan (2015)

Score: 1.5 / 5

Between Joe Wright, Hugh Jackman, and pretty cool aesthetic premise, I was looking forward to this film almost as much as Crimson Peak. So what happened?! Pan has to be the worst cinematic disappointment for me in years.

Okay, it's not all bad. Hugh Jackman takes gleeful pleasure in being a pirate, though he's not even on screen very long. And Garrett Hedlund is pretty. And some of the visuals are stunning.

That's it.

I knew we were off to a bad start when the film opened on a Dickensian orphanage run by fat, grumpy old nuns. From there the children are whisked away by pirates in a flying ship to Neverland, but not before causing chaos in the London skies and sailing through a bizarre limbo that would fit into Oz the Great and Powerful (2013) or Alice in Wonderland (2010). But Neverland itself is hardly better, as we see crowds of children laboring under the pirates singing Nirvana and Blackbeard (Jackman) snorting cocaine. I mean fairy dust. Apparently it keeps him looking "young" as long as he grinds it and inhales it regularly, though this important detail is only seen in one brief scene.

The plot is as straightforward as they come. Peter is on a quest to find his mother, who he learns was the great hero of the island natives and lover of the Fairy Prince. Eventually he leads the fairies and natives into victorious battle against Blackbeard and this pirates. Along the way, he befriends Garrett Hedlund as Hook (an odd name, as he as full use of both hands) and Tiger Lily, played by Rooney Mara. I don't really have a problem with the controversial casting of Rooney Mara -- who is to say what the native skin color of a fantasy island population may be? -- though the almost completely whitewashed cast is unfortunate.

What I do have a problem with is the stupidity of the film. The dialogue is inane and made me groan more than once: "The boys are lost, sir." "Then they are lost boys." Or "I lie sometimes. It's called being an adult." Beyond the dialogue, even the plot doesn't flow. Good thing the same body of water that hides enormous crocodiles also provides trippy visions for exposition; it's convenient, though apparently there's no concern about the monsters they escaped only moments before. In one scene, huge vicious birds attack our protagonist, and in another he seeks them out to help fight the pirates. Worst for me, in the climactic battle where Peter is destined to fight and kill Blackbeard, he simply leads the fairies in flying around the ship. He does absolutely no fighting. In fact, the only heroic thing he does in the whole film is fly to save Hook from falling into an abyss.

I could handle the strange production design if it were consistent, but it's not. I could handle steampunk pirates or neon-colored white natives if they fit into a larger aesthetic vision, but they don't. I could handle wild and spectacular CGI sequences if they supported a reasonably intelligent plot, but they don't. I could handle terrible dialogue if the characters were interesting, but they're not. And I could handle awkward camera angles and jerky, illogical editing if anything else in the film worked, but it doesn't! Actually, the really weird thing about the swooping camera shots is that they often happen when there is little or no action going on. Why waste the dynamic shot on scenery? Especially scenery that's mostly computer-generated??

The whole thing is a hodgepodge, big-budget waste of resources that brings nothing new to the imaginative world of Barrie's Peter Pan. Sure, it's not the worst thing to watch with your kids or maybe if you're under the influence. Yes, I might watch it again sometime to try and find something useful in it, or maybe just to enjoy Jackman's maniacal grin and feathered costume. I mean, pirates are my weak spot. Especially when they have a deep voice like Garrett Hedlund.

But do yourself a favor and save your money for a Halloween costume.

IMDb: Pan

The Martian (2015)

Score: 4.5 / 5

Coming on the heels of two Big, Serious space dramas, The Martian had a lot of room for error. But its great victory is that it has nothing in common whatsoever with those other films; indeed, the few moments it creeps toward resembling either Gravity or Interstellar, the filmmakers jerk it off in another direction, playing off our expectations and keeping us in constant awe. (For example, the climax involves two individuals floating around in space; it comes straight from Gravity, but ends up in a very different place.)

Where Gravity had a lot of thematic, well, gravity and allegorical import, The Martian avoids morbidity in its brave wit and dry humor while keeping its characters grounded and rational. And where Interstellar lost itself in abstractions and morbid sentimentality, The Martian keeps things fiercely realistic and logically based. I'm using words like "rational" and "realistic" to hone in on something else, too. I know almost nothing about space science, and the filmmakers are clearly targeting people like me, but I followed the reasoning behind every step of this film. I couldn't speak to the factual details, but keeping a clueless person like me so entranced for two and a half hours of science-speak is a feat. Especially considering that most of the dialogue concerns various technologies and potential plans to rescue Matt Damon.

I don't know what I was expecting, but none of the actors in this film suffered like I anticipated. Here we have a man who has had no human contact in over a year (though Mars days and Earth days are different, so I don't actually know), and he stays completely sane, rational, and even humored the entire time. Maybe we're too used to melodrama and wildly unstable characters, but I was taken completely aback by his characterization. I still can't decide if I liked it or not, but it was very different, and for now I'm fine with that. And that's to say nothing of Damon's abilities; though Jessica Chastain, Jeff Daniels, and Chiwetel Ejiofor have some nice moments, it is Damon who carries the weight of the film. When he starts crying during the climax, I totally lost it. And it was nice to see him have some fun and do fresh work.

And speaking of fresh work, I'm glad Ridley Scott came back to form after Exodus: Gods and Kings. That was a hot mess. But this is a tight-wound thriller that feels less complicated than it is. That's something Scott has always been able to do well, and in such a way that it looks easy. Here, he relieves what could easily have become plodding plot points by speeding along from place to place with nice (though a bit too many) subtitles for time and location, and connecting scenes with a delightful soundtrack of disco music. He also, and bravely, I think, introduces important concepts and then only minimally references them as we go along. We only see our hero figure out how to talk to the scientists on Earth once; after that, we just figure it got easier and happened more often. Or we only see him learn how to make water once; after that, we just assume it becomes routine. These crucial plot points move us along, and then we forget about their continued importance as Scott pushes us into new waters every ten minutes or so. It's a gamble, and one that succeeds brilliantly.

One last thought. This is a fine film. It's definitely not on my space-adventure favorites list because I do prefer my sci-fi to be pretty dark and artsy. And yet it still won me over because of the obvious intelligence and energy that went into making it. It's one of those rare pictures that I just believed. I only occasionally thought of Matt Damon or the others as performing. It's all raw, shallow, and tight, which makes it work remarkably well in a genre of melodrama and abstractions. And, of course, when ABBA's "Waterloo" started playing right before the climax, I was in heaven.

IMDb: The Martian

Sicario (2015)

Score: 5 / 5

I get really excited every time some of my favorite artists team up to do a film, and Sicario is no exception! Visionary director Denis Villeneuve (Prisoners, Enemy), legendary cinematographer Roger Deakins (Prisoners, Doubt, Fargo, The Shawshank Redemption), and recent composer Johann Johannsson (Prisoners, The Theory of Everything, Foxcatcher) rock this daring and haunting crime thriller in ways I only dreamed they might. It was a total moviegasm experience for me, and my hands are still shaking from it.

Imagine what would happen if Zero Dark Thirty (2012) and Traffic (2000) had a baby, and you can grasp the direction this film takes. It's a brutal peek into the drug trade and cartel culture, and it relentlessly forces us to face the horrors we so easily permit. It's about the little compromises we make every day that push us farther and farther away from civilized life and into the deserts of chaos and cruelty. It's a web of policy and procedure, a critique of corrupt or misguided law enforcement, and a tragedy of one soldier's fall from innocence.

That soldier, played with great vulnerability and compassion by Emily Blunt (The Young Victoria, Into the Woods), is an FBI agent determined to win the war on drugs by the book. But, as she soon learns, her idealism is far from practical and far from successful. After a traumatic incident in one raid, which starts the film, she joins with Department of Defense agents to hunt down the head of a cartel and bring him to justice. She sees her team lie, torture, and murder their way to the top of the cartel, and becomes privy to secrets that destroy her faith.

Of course, director Villeneuve is keenly aware of his female protagonist as the heart and soul of the film, and so he keeps us trained on her. For every horror she faces, we see it only as it relates to her. In fact, most of the violence and dead bodies we see only briefly, before turning to see her reactions to them. It's a gamble, and one that pays off brilliantly. And that's not to say we don't see plenty of the other actors as well. Josh Brolin (No Country for Old Men, W.) is his typical gruff self, though here I found him more compelling and inscrutable than usual. And Benecio Del Toro (Traffic, Che) blew me away yet again as the dangerous loose cannon of the team, guarded behind his facade but vicious and terrifying when necessary.

Cinematographer Roger Deakins -- I can't even say how much I love his work -- fashions the drama with an eye for gravity and weight, shown most obviously in his repeated longshots of the desert landscape and views down from aircraft. He takes his time with every scene, painting a portrait with varied lights and colors that build to a climax that parallels the plot. By the time we actually reach the climactic raid -- underground and at night -- he throws convention to the wolves and douses us in thermal vision and night vision lenses. The interplay is provocative to say the least, aand by the time it was done I felt as though I had tried some of the drugs the characters were hunting.

The whole movie is a trip and a half, a spiritual descent into hell, and one that left me bewildered but satisfied. And the score by Johann Johannsson isn't intrusive at all; the only memorable part is an increasingly hypnotic drone that thrums on through the film, a mysterious and unsettling sound that feels tied to an idea of impending doom. If this all sounds a bit heady, it's because it is. And designed to be so. Handled by others, this film might have become mired in complex dialogue absorbed with the details of the crimes and organizations involved, in muddled editing and ambiguous plotlines juxtaposed with vague or unnecessary characters, or in sentiment and politics. Instead, we get a clear, if artistic, picture of a very specific world in which very real people grapple with huge abstract concepts. And it's all done beautifully, which is obviously the most important part.

IMDb: Sicario

Pawn Sacrifice (2015)

Score: 3.5 / 5

I've never been much of a Tobey Maguire fan, but this is one movie where all his little (or not so little) "isms" pay off in an effective manner. In Pawn Sacrifice, he plays Bobby Fischer, World Chess Champion and controversial public figure during the Cold War, with boiling energy and furious resolve. In fact, I was able to watch him so attentively precisely because he plays a character so distinctly unlikeable. In turns pathetic and maddening, Maguire spins a web of paranoia so convincing, it's almost hard to see that it's him and not the filmmakers at all.

And I admire Edward Zwick, but this is not one of his better films. Balanced between drama and thriller, it's too intimate to be Big Picture and too funny to be thrilling. Its rather ostentatious title suggested that this might be this year's The Imitation Game, subtle and harsh with an eye to poignancy. Rather, it feels like a knockoff of that film, but this time with more American silliness and an obnoxious protagonist. Not a good trade. On the other hand, Maguire is playing by a different set of rules, apparently taking his hint from Black Swan or last year's Whiplash in his single-minded stab at weighty character acting. Not that he hasn't tried that before.

Mad props must be given to his co-stars, however, who marvelously parry his every word with generosity and humility. Michael Stuhlbarg and Peter Sarsgaard wonderfully support the action and the pathos of each scene, while Liev Schreiber looms in opposition to Maguire's mania. It's not a showcase for anyone but Maguire, though, who does what we can with his unstable character in volcanic eruptions of high-pitched yells and popped-out veins.

Zwick does manage to succeed in one way The Imitation Game failed: the action of his lead characters and the tone of the film are reflected wonderfully in the "footage" of the period. We see the mobs, hear the music, and get a good look at both American paranoia and European anxiety as they interact with our characters. I think this device works better here because it's presented as media, which it is, and the media already play a large part in this story. Zwick makes it work, and as someone who had no idea about the chess world or Fischer's apparently famed existence, I certainly benefitted from it.

One more thought. I mentioned Whiplash earlier, and that hints at something else I find curious about Pawn Sacrifice. Whereas the former film effectively educates the audience on the world it presents -- that is, even if you knew precious little about music, the film is not difficult to understand in musical terms -- the latter does not. In fact, there is little dialogue describing the game, and even less screen time devoted to depicting the nuances of play. Rather, I think Zwick tries to use chess as a not-so-subtle metaphor for the psychological war between nations during the Cold War and the various subterfuges and feints involved. Taken further, I wonder if he is trying to make a statement about the war, perhaps trivializing the global drama into a single board game that is taken far out of context, disguised in rich trappings, and played by mentally ill divas.

But that might be giving him too much credit. I think this movie is more face-value than that.

IMDb: Pawn Sacrifice

Everest (2015)

Score: 4 / 5

I fell into my own trap. I have preached before about not putting much stock in trailers and letting the film speak for itself, regardless of its claimed genre. When I first saw the trailers for Everest, I was expecting this year's Gravity, a daring, dark venture of cinematic novelty, great camera work, and heightened allegory. But as I walked out of the theater, I confess myself disappointed because it was none of those things. It's a damn fine film, to be sure, but it wasn't what I had anticipated. So don't do what I did.

So what is this movie? It's a good old-fashioned (by which I mean the genre reached its peak in the mid-2000s) disaster movie. In terms of plot, it's straightforward and formulaic: competing groups of climbers attempt to mount Everest (beg pardon) and due to a bizarre series of mistakes and happenstance, almost everyone dies. Is that a spoiler? I don't think so. Why? Because the movie is also a good old-fashioned biography, detailing the infamous real-life 1996 expedition. And what if it's not as spectacular as I might have expected? There's a lot to be said for a thriller this well-crafted and independent of CGI.

The real heroes of this film are all behind the scenes. Yes, it might be worth seeing for the great and varied cast (including the amazing Jason Clarke, Emily Watson, Michael Kelly, Jake Gyllenhaal, and Josh Brolin). But I applaud first the writers for so effectively capturing the many characters, places, and events of those few days. I never once felt confused or disconnected, which is saying a lot because I have trouble with names and faces. Credit must also go to director Baltasar Kormakur, whose passion for this project is unmistakable. Any big-budget filmmaker could have gone with the wind here, and really amped up the special effects (as I expected he would), but Kormakur is far more interested in creating a distinct tension between human willpower and the might of the mountain. Early in the film, Jason Clarke's character, the leader of one climbing team, describes the horrors they will face on Everest, and he climaxes by saying that above a certain altitude their bodies will literally be dying. I think the director relished in that concept.

In fact, the first part of the film is more of an adventure drama, and a rather uplifting one at that. We hear about the characters' dreams and motivations for climbing, we see them working together and overcoming obstacles. It is not until they reach their mountaintop experience that all the mistakes they have made along the way return with a vengeance. That's when it becomes a full-fledged disaster movie. And yet, despite the horrors we see on screen, Kormakur keeps his eye trained on closeups of his actors, making the human drama as spectacular as the occasional wideshot of the mountain's grandeur. He also keeps his eye on excruciating detail, which I didn't even realize until the credits began to roll and we are presented with photos of the real characters during their doomed expedition. Hair, costumes, and even poses are perfectly replicated, and every single scene of the film is tagged with a time and location. At first I found this device obnoxious, but it further proves Kormakur's passionate endeavor to accurately portray the real story.

It's entertaining, it's informative, and it's ultimately haunting. I could go into a lengthy argument about the integrity of art and my ambivalence toward movies that try to accurately depict reality at the expense of poetic transcendence. But I won't, because Everest never really tries to be anything but an honest look at a group of people who wanted a mountaintop experience, and how their efforts culminated in absolute tragedy. Hold on to something.

Oscar season is coming in fast and hard, guys. This one's a sure contender for sound mixing and editing.

IMDb: Everest

Black Mass (2015)

Score: 3.5 / 5

I guess it's officially Oscar season. Johnny Depp ushers us in with an early grab for Best Actor that is easily his best performance in years. Depp plays Whitey Bulger, infamous gangster lord of South Boston, with a monstrous intensity that transforms the character into a devilish force of nature. He disappears into the role, aided by excellent makeup, and transcends the film around him. If nothing else, see this movie for Depp. His chilling, bulbous blue glare is entrancing on screen, and he injects venom into every word he speaks.

The rest of the film is a solid crime thriller, to be sure, but not one I found to be very palatable. We are given precious little insight into Bulger's character, and indeed we are given only shallow and fleeting peeks into the plethora of other characters. Rather than appreciating the scope of the story, I was having trouble keeping tabs on everyone (not helped by the fact that they are all white men in business suits with thick accents discussing a lot of proper nouns that hadn't yet been established visually). The script is immense, spanning several years, locations across the country, and tons of characters; handled well, this type of script can be effective (remember David Fincher's Zodiac?), but here it buries itself in details and names and motives. Whole subplots come and go with seemingly little logic (whether the fault of the writer or the director), and the editing occasionally feels forced and awkward.

That's not to say there aren't shining moments. The performances are solid all around, notably in Joel Edgerton, who has to share several intense scenes with Depp, and in Julianne Nicholson, who shares only one scene with Depp that will probably give me nightmares tonight. Benedict Cumberbatch, Kevin Bacon, Peter Sarsgaard, Corey Stoll, and Juno Temple all pop in for a few scenes, which is fun if nothing else. And the lengthy, expository dialogue sometimes gives way to brutal gems, usually delivered by Depp, that often tore me out of my reverie.

Speaking of reverie, I should mention that Masanobu Takayanagi's cinematography is really excellent (he also helped shoot Babel, Eat Pray Love, Silver Linings Playbook, and State of Play), alternating between closeups of our lead actors' faces and grand stillshots of larger, usually remote locations. Though most images are in stark grayscale and in bleak lighting, Takayanagi frames his shots so that even an abandoned alley or the muddy underside of a bridge look as important as a cathedral. I think someone decided to pay attention to the title. Elegant and almost Gothic, his camerawork gives an engaging and hypnotic energy to the film that I found endlessly intriguing.

It doesn't have the heart of The Town, the sweeping grandeur of an epic like The Godfather, or even commentary on politics or violence like we might see in The Drop or Public Enemies. And watching it, I didn't really care what happened to these people because director Scott Cooper didn't seem to either. But as the last ten minutes came to a strange sort of climax (underscored by a haunting symphonic melody), I realized that the movie works in levels beyond those conventions. It's just an examination of a man's life. Gritty and bleak, the film makes us intimate with a gangster and his methods, including his liaisons with the FBI, and then leaves us with the weight of his sins (and ours, by extension) to contemplate as we leave. If the filmmakers wanted to undermine the cathartic and spiritual (confession/redemption) convention of recent crime dramas, they did so, and this black mass consistently piles on the heavy stuff with no hope for absolution.

IMDb: Black Mass

Sinister 2 (2015)

Score: 2.5 / 5

Meh.

I really wanted to like this movie. I loved the first one, and though the premise was never going to be really dynamic in a sequel, I still had high hopes, especially when I learned that Scott Derrickson was still helping out. But he really should have directed this one, too.

Maybe that's not fair. Director Ciaran Foy (whom I had never heard of) does a decent job with keeping the dread looming above. But that hardly makes a film worthwhile these days, and it puts a horror sequel six feet under by default. With maybe three exceptions, the jump-scares are predictable and less than chilling. That said, I think we need to make a clearer distinction between "scary movies" and horror films. This picture is horror, through and through, simply in its thematic elements. If you saw the first, you know it's a contemporary re-imagining of Children of the Corn in a different setting, where the children become enamored of a demonic figure who entices them to sacrifice their families and join him in a ghostly dimension. While good artists can usually expound and elaborate on a rich concept like this, they didn't much here.

Don't get me wrong: it's not a "bad" film. There are some lovely choices that I should probably applaud. First, centering the story on Ex-Deputy So & So (James Ransone) is definitely a wining point, and a counterpart in Shannyn Sossamon was a brilliant choice. They have some lovely character moments, partly due to the nice dialogue in their more intimate scenes as well as on their own. It's pretty obvious that Derrickson and co-writer C. Robert Cargill (also from the first film) have their hearts with this duo, and it allows for a lot of warm feelings in an otherwise heavy picture.

The central gimmick of this franchise -- that of children murdering their families in imaginative and graphic ways and filming the crime as an homage to their deity -- is chilling, but has largely lost its efficacy in a sequel. While watching those sequences is no less horrifying (I heard at least two groans from other audience members), it is not particularly scary anymore. Here we go again, conflating the two. My point, though, is that some horror films (especially ones that have this kind of weighty emotional import) might do well to have a few well-designed jump-scares. Much like good comedies need some slapstick or body humor to complement intelligent plots or character development, good horror films with particularly memorable plots that disturb long after viewing might do well to offset the heavy stuff with some frisson to make it fun as well as horrifying. Does that make sense? Horror films beg audience reaction, and to only hear a few groans of discomfort is probably not the best sign that your picture is working. You need a few shrieks or even giggles.

And I'm not saying all horror needs that. Look at It Follows, which had very little humor in it; it doesn't need much humor because its premise isn't as deeply disturbing in our culture. Adolescent sexuality is punished, okay, yeah sure. Our culture expects that, because it's been our narrative in real life even more than in film. So that movie can maintain its sense of dread by feeding off plays in narrative devices. But in Sinister, we have children murdering their parents and siblings in religious observance, which is far more taboo for our culture; indeed, very few horror films have ever (to my knowledge) broached this matter. So when almost every other scene of this film forces us to watch these atrocities, it would be nice to have some jump-scare levity in the meantime.

Besides my ambiguous feelings toward the thematic elements of this movie, I should also mention my more pressing concern for it. It's just not as good as the first one. Maybe because it can't spend much time on exposition, it dives pretty quickly into the heavy horror, and it can't really go anywhere from there. Director Foy tries, but he can't escape his own dangerous trap: The gimmicks of his film (the videotapes of the murders) become the stars of his film. Grotesque and disturbing as they are, we yearn for the next one because the rest of the film so lacks what we want to see. Even his camerawork and set design look like rip-offs of other franchises. The first Sinister worked because of its pervasive Gothic energy and sensibility, mixed with a rural awareness of social and religious dynamics. This one feels like a bloodier regurgitation of that atop a mosaic of Children of the Corn. I mean, the climax is a child chasing our protagonists through a cornfield with a scythe, for crying out loud!

Don't get me wrong. I'd much rather watch this than a whole slew of other scary movies. It accomplishes all its sets out to do, with some style and even some heart to boot. It's not bad.

It's just disappointing.

IMDb: Sinister 2

The Gift (2015)

Score: 4.5 / 5

Easily the most stylish thriller this summer (actually, maybe the only thriller this summer), The Gift presents us with a masterful retelling of a familiar story. It's Fatal Attraction meets Gone Girl, but without much overt play on misogyny. Indeed, the woman in this film, played by Rebecca Hall, is the most sympathetic character, and we largely follow her journey between two opposing men who seem to have staked claims on her and her privileged life. But she doesn't really suffer from the two men in the same ways that they suffer from each other.

As I say, the tale is familiar: Rogue man (Joel Edgerton) with shady motives begins stalking our protagonist woman and her husband (Jason Bateman) in their idyllic suburban life. We get the idea that the stranger is after our heroine until we learn that the victim of his advances may actually be her husband, who had shamed the man many years prior. Rising above the soapy plot, though, the film perfectly captures appropriate dialogue, a stark visual approach, and entrancingly nuanced performances that, together, spin into a nightmarish descent that doesn't relent until the ending credits roll. Actually, the final fifteen minutes or so were possibly my favorite, as the plot ramps up and our sympathies are all over the place. Whereas we initially identified with the woman, we become more invested in the men's game of cat-and-mouse while (in the most brilliant turn I could have expected) we totally lose sight of the woman. In the film's climax, when we think she has become the men's victim, we get one shot of her, and in it she unequivocally (and non-verbally) declares her independence and autonomy with a single look of defiance. It took my breath away.

Joel Edgerton deserves all of the praise for this movie, as he starred, wrote, produced, and directed it, making it his directorial debut, I believe. His ear seems trained to the human voice at its most guarded, by which I mean the film's dialogue tends to take on double meanings, and works best when polite conversation is pulled back to reveal the raw cruelty underneath. Jason Bateman particularly shines in those moments, and he pulls a powerhouse turnaround about two-thirds of the way through the movie. Director Edgerton's eye, however, is trained on sensual patterns and proximity, allowing the rich colors and beautiful sets to frame casual conversations as if they were intimate, and intimate situations as if they were horrific. Indeed, the one overtly misogynist moment in the film (I kept waiting for it, when the plot hinges on two men battling, with a woman in between) happens near the end, and it's a fairly brutal (though not graphic) sequence. Its sexual nature is left ultimately ambiguous, which helps, but my point is that it is filmed not unlike a terrorist's home video, with shaky, theatrical handheld camera, and the victim is helpless as her masked assailant poses for the screen. In this way, even the more sensitive, sexual moments in the film are sensationalized as pure horror entirely as a result of Edgerton's directing.

Really, the only thing I disliked about the film was its title. It's a little too generic, a little too familiar for my taste. That said, it might bring a little insight into Edgerton's motivations for creating the film. His character seems driven by an inner sense of justice, a particularly vindictive higher purpose, and his means of enacting it is through gifts. Perhaps he feels that he himself is a gift to these people, showing them their sins and forcing them to confront their pasts and prejudices. Perhaps the titular gift is he himself, allowing the other characters a chance to change. Of course, given some of his actions, it would also be a haunting view into his mind, as we can trace how dangerous and vicious his behaviors can be.

IMDb: The Gift