Lights Out (2016)

Score: 3 / 5

Do you remember Mama, the 2013 supernatural horror based on the short film? I feel much the same way about Lights Out as I did about that one, so I'm going to talk about them the same way, and kill two flicks with one post.

Each film does something wonderful: featuring actors acting. In the former, it was Jessica Chastain and Nikolaj Coster-Waldau, and here it is Maria Bello, Teresa Palmer, Gabriel Bateman, and Alexander DiPersia. All are a joy to watch, because they all dig into the bizarre stories and exaggerated drama and perform honestly and mindfully.

Each film also manages to crack a certain glass ceiling often ignored in horror cinema. Both are films about women, in which both the protagonist and antagonist are women, and during which much of the horror is shown to be explicitly female. Perhaps that last is more apparent in Mama, where the villain's lair is a vaginal hole in the wall. Compare, if you will, to images from the original Poltergeist (1982), and see what I mean. There's a lot to be said, too, about the role of motherhood, a relative lack of female sexualization (Palmer, in Lights Out, explicitly controls her own space), and a discussion for victims-turned-victors without a revenge plot (as opposed to The Last House on the Left or every other slasher since). That's a discussion for another time.

Each film features a (yes, female) monster/villain that looks very similar: a hag, deathly and deadly, sporting damp, tangled hair atop her gruesome visage; bugging eyes above toothy snarls; fingers like claws; limbs that are less "flexible" and more "disjointed" with akimbo movements that range from graceful floating on the ceiling to jittery chase sequences on the ground. I don't know that I can describe why exactly, but this character is horrifying to me.

Each film suffers in its basic plot. Each is little more than a haunted house tale, replete with typical (and often expected) jump-scares that, while chilling and atmospheric, do little to frighten us later. The (ill)logic nature of each often undercuts what drama we can connect with, by which I mean that the mythology is thin and shaky at best, and generally distracts me from a more visceral reaction. In Lights Out specifically, the clever concept was more effective in the trailer, which streamlined the melodrama and instead showed most (if not all) of the jump-scares in the film. This made the film seem almost like a second viewing, because the genre scenes were ones we've literally already seen. Good scenes, sure, but familiar.

Finally, each film is PG-13. While I might entertain personal thoughts that start with "What if..." and end with hard R horror ideas, I think that for these films, PG-13 works fine. These are films about motherhood and child endangerment, about domestic life and femininity gone wrong, and while they could always be more explicit and violent and gory, there is plenty to be said for horror that can thrill and chill and engage and intrigue and still stay safely in a clean(ish), classy(ish), mainstream audience's grasp.

IMDb: Lights Out

The Infiltrator (2016)

Score: 3.5 / 5

This movie should have been called Bryan Cranston, Slay. It just doesn't get much better than watching this powerhouse man performing his crazy, hyper-nuanced craft in a movie (or show) that otherwise doesn't matter as much as it wants to.

Sure, it would have been nice for the film to be better written and better executed, and its tone is about as confused as its focus. Does it want to be a slick crime thriller, or a Breaking Bad ripoff with some period drama? Does it want to be a dense character study or a fun summer action flick? It doesn't know, which translates onscreen to not really being any of those things. But before long in the viewing, I realized I just didn't care about the story. Its fact-based narrative is intriguing, obviously, but it's been done countless times before, and far more effectively. Derivative and flirting with crippling sentiment, the plot even meanders through familiar thematic territory, leaving us more annoyed than moved.

Cranston, on the other hand, shows us his power in every frame. Singly making the film worth watching, he imbues so much duplicity and earnestness into his performance that I found myself absorbed into his gravelly voice and his gaunt, weary visage. He maneuvers as a gymnast, walking a treacherous balance beam with each conversation he has with his wife, his partner, his boss, his enemies, his targets. Though the script gives him almost no helping hands, Cranston makes the character riveting and emotionally palpable.

He is engrossing. The movie is serviceable. Take it or leave it.

IMDb: The Infiltrator

Swiss Army Man (2016)

Score: 4.5 / 5

It's one of those pictures that defies most description. That might be the very reason I liked it so much; genre classifications can so easily limit film, as well as the audience's reaction to it. Consider, if you will, Crimson Peak, which, while thoroughly a horror film, is hardly "scary". Fellow moviegoers in the theater where I saw that Gothic romance muttered as they exited their disappointment in lackluster scares. But that film wasn't made to frighten. Disturb and enchant, sure, but not terrify.

Similarly, this one can hardly be described as more than a comedy, or at most an exercise in absurdist humor. It's a sort of macabre coming-of-age myth -- more conceptual than concrete in details -- wherein our protagonist Hank finds himself alone and suicidal on a small deserted island. A corpse washes up on the shore and our hero begins a surreal friendship with it. Before long, the corpse manifests its supernatural abilities, including propelling flatulence, karate choppers, a penile compass, and an oral water fount. With the makeshift Swiss Army knife's aid, Hank finds his way both literally and metaphorically, and, at the culmination of their adventures, the corpse departs.

If that sounds weird enough, you don't know the half of it. Between bear attacks and crossdressing, fake porn and Mary Elizabeth Winstead, and a whole lot of not-so-mildly queer romance, this film is packed with indie, highbrow arthouse tragedy tropes as well as slapstick, lowbrow body humor gags. In many ways, this is pop art as high art (or maybe vice versa), and having Daniel Radcliffe as the corpse is just brilliant. His performance blew me out of the water, and the filmmakers' use of him is little short of genius; paired with an exaggeratedly eccentric performance from Paul Dano, the film works wonders. The two square off in a dazzling display of expert comedic timing parried instantly with profound loss and fear.

Most of all, this film is about wonder and curiosity. Just as Radcliffe's corpse (named Manny, of course) seeks enlightenment and reclamation, we the audience feel a need to help our friends in the film connect and rejoin civilization. Their make-believe role-playing is at once sumptuous and creative, but pitiful and broken. It doesn't take long for us to realize that the key Manny seeks -- real human interaction -- is what brought him to life in the first place, and what is sustaining him through Hank's friendship. We begin to wonder if poor dead Manny is doing the same for his friend.

It's a screwy oddball comedy, one that defies accurate description. So just do yourself a favor and go watch. If nothing else, it's a bizarre and silly adventure to distract from a hot summer day, and by the time it ends all us misfits and weirdos can sit back and consider our own journeys, with or without explosive flatulence.

IMDb: Swiss Army Man

The Legend of Tarzan (2016)

Score: 2 / 5

Everything that could have gone well didn't.

It's pretty clear from the start that this movie has a lot on its mind. And well it should, as merely its title conjures ideas of colonialism, environmentalism, sexism, and racism. Its turgid script and attempted epic proportion, however, fail to match with the film's obvious emphasis on action and CGI sequences. It's hard to care much about the injustice done upon native peoples or the environment when you're dazzled by Alexander Skarsgard cuddling with lions.

That's not to say it's not an entertaining picture. Skarsgard is mostly naked most of the time, which is fine, and his Byronic take on the character is unexpectedly engaging. Director David Yates carries his mastery of atmosphere over from his Harry Potter films, dousing each shot with saturated light and mist in a colorful palette of hues. We get to see lovely moments like a hippo attack and the villain's demise by crocodile, which is obviously worthwhile. And, if you don't mind anachronistic weirdness, Samuel L. Jackson plays Samuel L. Jackson doing tiresome comic relief.

I'd go ahead and describe the plot for you, but there isn't much of one, and it's a pretty tedious amalgamation of other, better action/adventures.Consider the climactic wildebeest stampede: it was more emotional in The Lion King and more clever and awesome in Australia. I'd go ahead and praise the actors, but they don't do much: I don't know how the producers managed to get such a fine cast and then waste literally all of their talents. Christoph Waltz's villain is almost as dull as in Spectre. Actually, no, here it's worse. Margot Robbie is just pathetic as a lackluster American damsel in distress who fits the period about as well as Jackson. Jim Broadbent and Djimon Hounsou show up for a few speedy scenes, but then we forget they were there because it just doesn't matter.

It's just mindless fun. "Fun", I should say, if you let the eye candy distract you from the fact that it's astonishingly silly stuff, and from remembering that the 1999 Disney cartoon is an infinitely better way to spend your time.

IMDb: The Legend of Tarzan

The Purge: Election Year (2016)

Score: 4.5 / 5

Marketing this movie must have been the best job ever. James DeMonaco, struck by brilliant inspiration, has crafted a relentless and timely critique of our social climate. Brutal and truly, deeply disturbing, the film surpasses its two predecessors in relevance and in tapping into very real cultural horrors. There are no shortages of fearsome images (like the ones in the poster below), and paired with the film's distinct title, the filmmakers and marketers were able to scare me well before I even knew the release date. Look at that creepy Lady Liberty costume. Look at the gaudy stars and stripes and neon lights surrounded by smoke and blood. I mean, come on, just look at the trailer's repeated phrase, "Keep America Great."

Whether you're more concerned with vigilantism, guns, racism, poverty, church corruption, legal corruption, self-defense, sexism, it's all here. Or if you just want a solid thriller, it's here, arguably for the first time in the franchise. Smart, quickly paced, and packed with engaging action sequences, this picture finally fully realizes what the first one promised, and this time with much less sentimentality, less arbitrarity, and less Ethan Hawke. Its politics leave a little to be desired, and I suppose at times it can get a bit preachy. But if that's the worst you can say about a horror movie, it must be damn good.

And this one is. Even in its pulpy brutality and almost campy delivery, Election Year manages to get into your head in a way Anarchy couldn't quite. Frank Grillo is back as former police sergeant Leo Barnes, who now leads the security of anti-Purge Senator Charlie Roan. Grillo's grizzled badassery again steals the movie, though this time his grounded performance isn't quite as compelling. The Senator, on the other hand, controls the little bit of sentiment in the picture, and the opening sequence (concerning her history with the Purge) is the only sequence the film really doesn't need. Beyond that, she is a wonder to watch: Her idealism and uncompromising position would be unbelievable in the Purge-world if she were not portrayed by the firebrand that is Elizabeth Mitchell (Lost, Once Upon a Time, and the Santa Clause sequels).

I'm curious as to the future of the franchise. Because each of the three films has gotten exceptionally better, I hope to see more here. After Election Year's smash-bang of a climax, DeMonaco sows a delicious little seed of hope that could easily spawn a direct sequel (as opposed to a pseudo-anthologized sequel). Senator Roan wins the presidency in a landslide vote, and her top priority is declared as stopping the annual Purge. A news report suggests that Purge supporters have begun to riot in the streets. Now, you tell me: Do you see another installment coming?

I feel about as dreadful and expectant about the next film as I do about our own election this November. DeMonaco could have a lot of fodder to gorge and regurgitate on the big screen.

IMDb: The Purge: Election Year

Free State of Jones (2016)

Score: 2.5 / 5

It just tried too hard. This summer's wannabe blockbuster-slash-pre-Oscar-season-"Big Important Film" fell a bit flat, and for several reasons. It wants to be a vehicle for Matthew McConaughey's dramatic leading man spree, but his solid performance is hindered by splintered writing and an unfocused script. It wants to be a triumph of social justice rhetoric and historical reclamation, but wallows in its period and atmosphere. It wants to teach a history lesson about one of the most intriguing and least known stories of our Civil War, but can't decide between history and relevance, drama and action, or even if it wants to be a biopic about Newton Knight.

It's a fine picture. Really. Nice costumes, some really fabulous atmosphere (set design, cinematography), and a few strong action scenes. McConaughey is obviously working hard for the part, and the supporting cast is all in. The problems here are script and direction. Neither is as focused or specific as it should have been for clarity's sake, much less for dramatic competency. The script is confused and poorly paced, spanning a vast amount of time and space to cover the full story without ever diving into the ideological meat of the matter. Sure, visuals of slaves and freed men, runaway Confederates, lynchings, and the KKK all convey powerful shorthand, but that's all shorthand we've seen dozens of times before. In historical dramas, we have to see novelty, or we compartmentalize it into the nameless mass of wartime films we saw in high school history class.

I'm talking about the almost perfect sequence in which the women of the hidden camp march into town to supposedly bury their dead, under watchful guard by Confederate soldiers. As they level with the enemy, they reveal weapons under their mourning gowns and ope fire at point-blank range. That's something special, and it was the most memorable scene in the film for me.

It could have been epic. It could have been romantic. It could have been swashbuckling and intense. It could have been pedagogical and enlightening. It could have been relevant and brutal. And when it could have been everything but ended up as little more than a historical anecdote, it not only didn't do justice to its inspiration, but it didn't do justice to itself or its audience.

IMDb: Free State of Jones

The Neon Demon (2016)

Score: 4.5 / 5

If you haven't seen or appreciated Nicolas Winding Refn's other films (Drive, Only God Forgives, Valhalla Rising), don't even go near this one. It's typical of his work, and also a more visceral experience; I've said often before that Refn's films are examples of film as an experience. As we expect from him, The Neon Demon has little real plot, ill-defined characters, and a lack of anything you would want from a summer blockbuster.

What we have instead is a film with little dialogue (which is often pulpy and thin, if not a little forced) but so much style it almost hurts to watch. We are absorbed into the chaotic melodrama of Jesse, a young aspiring model who yearns for success and fame, and her world of superficial camaraderie and cutthroat competition. In many ways, this is an even more surrealist Black Swan, substituting the dancers of the latter with models and photographers. As Jesse (Elle Fanning) climbs the ladder, she sidesteps and flatters her superiors until, eventually, she overcomes them and turns into a goddess of her own world. Her success, of course, provokes attack from the natural world, her community, and even her colleagues.

And as the film turns to its inevitable conclusion, Refn does something very sly: Whereas the beginning of the film featured more abstract images and dynamic visual spectacle, the climax (traditionally shown through more kinetic cinematography) is where Refn stills his eye, allowing the audience to ground ourselves in very real, graphic immediacy. Of course, the actual images he's filming are still surreal, which makes our experience of the end that much more bewildering and infuriating. In a good way.

It's a seductive story of hunger. We might ordinarily call it a "coming of age" plotline, but here we follow a young girl who is more vain than she pretends and who deludes herself into thinking she has more control of her destiny than she really does. She absorbs praise, and we see her blossom from a weak little flower to a champion and predator. Her little compromises build up into bridges she subsequently burns. By the end of her dark and distinctly unromantic narrative, rather than Jesse achieving her dreams, we see those dreams literally come to consume her. We see her colleagues, cougars and wolves, no less voracious in their own right, ever circling and longing to partake of her success and her flesh. As the dream sequences meld with the action sequences, we are held captive in a nightmarish netherworld of strobe lights and vibrant colors that sometimes look like a Kubrick or Lynch film and sometimes look like Tron. But there is nothing silly about the film, and its final scene packs a powerful punch.

IMDb: The Neon Demon

Finding Dory (2016)

Score: 4 / 5

Not as fresh as Nemo, but still better than most sequels and certainly better than any other animated movie in theaters, Finding Dory accomplishes exactly what it sets out to do. It's a wondrous, mesmerizing adventure into animation and the big blue, where each new scene provides little visual miracles. While we've seen it all before, this film focuses less on the awe of novelty and more on the emotional resonance its images provoke, especially when combined with the heartfelt story.

Speaking of which, I cried. A lot. Mostly because baby Dory (who we see several times, through flashbacks and memories) is the cutest thing I've ever seen on the big screen. Also, it's a heartfelt, gutsy tale of a hero with a distinct disability who learns to navigate the seas on her own terms. If that weren't enough to win your heart, our hero interacts with others who have a no less amazing capacity for humor, patience, and generosity in the face of frustrating setbacks and a friend that forces them to communicate in different ways. I was reminded of the supporting characters of The Theory of Everything, who are written to provide an astounding measure of kindness and love in helping their disabled protagonist. There are plenty of lessons for us all to learn, whether we relate more to Dory or her varied acquaintances.

Her friends, too, are many-splendored. Hosting as wide a selection of ocean crew as the first, though only a handful of new characters, this film balances its attentions between a cranky octopus with only seven tentacles, a nearsighted whale shark, a self-doubting beluga with a possible concussion, and a pair of territorial sea lions (Do you see the pattern? Everybody else has a "problem" too, and the way they work together is just charming). We also see the endless patience of Dory's family, her two parents voiced by Eugene Levy and Diane Keaton, who work with their troubled youngling through games and routines to always keep her occupied, joyful, and able to return home.

The plot is not a great secret nor a great surprise, but I won't say more on that front. Its message of affirmation is achieved through experiencing the film. I will say that its climax is a colossal miscalculation, and a vague insult to the logic and joy of fans; it's an unnecessarily complicated set piece that lasts too long, features too many unlikely effects, and is so comparatively absurd that I almost forgot this was a Disney movie. But it ended just as I tired of it, and returned to the real movie with grace, so I can't complain too much.

The main joy of this film is in its ability to capture an essence of homesickness, of caring and love for family and familiarity that one has lost, and then to not dwell on that loss but to enthusiastically seek after it. It's about hope for renewal and remembrance. Amazing that an animated flick about fish can be so profoundly human at heart.

IMDb: Finding Dory