Fantastic Four (2015)

Score: 2 / 5

Everybody's hating on this movie. I think I understand why, sort of, but I don't really want to bash it here. Because, if nothing else, it's not as dismal as people seem determined to shout. I think the biggest problem people have with this movie is that it's rehashed material done in a not-so-blockbustery way. So it doesn't really fit into a genre. Which a lot of people tend to lose their minds over.

Is it a superhero movie? In name only. Sorry, fans of the team, but this film has very little in the way of your typical Marvel fare. In fact, this film feels more like it took inspiration from last year's Interstellar (not really a great model, guys) than from X-Men or even last decade's attempt at Fantastic Four franchise. In fact, this movie tonally feels like it belonged to the last decade, but it visually looks like one we'd see today. It has a distinctly apocalyptic message, and its treatment of authority, purpose, and catastrophic horror comes straight out of the 2000s. But it features long, art-house dialogue sequences and expository whispering that feel more like a weird coming-of-age/political thriller of the 2010s. And its special effects are a hybrid of practical, Interstellar hardware and dust-storm explosions and neon cosmic liquid from Thor. It's just a strange mix.

Besides the whiplash between these elements, though, I don't think there's been a more compelling cast for a superhero movie in a few years. Miles Teller (Whiplash, Rabbit Hole) leads with Kate Mara (American Horror Story, House of Cards), Michael B. Jordan (The Wire, Fruitvale Station), and Jamie Bell (Billy Elliot, Snowpiercer), and all are wonderfully realized, though the script and camera don't spend quite enough time with them as intelligent, autonomous characters. We also enjoy the company of Toby Kebbell (Control, Dawn of the Planet of the Apes), Tim Blake Nelson (O Brother, Where Art Thou?, Child of God), and the wonderful Reg E. Cathey (The Wire, House of Cards), but again these players have limited time on screen.

I really don't think it's a bad film, and frankly I wish more superhero films would allow for lengthy dialogue and greater character development like this one. Unfortunately, we have this notion that superhero movies need to have loads of action in them, and hence the last hour or so of this film disintegrates into mindless (and, truly, poorly devised and executed) fantasy action sequences. But the beginning of the film is really very intriguing, if not quite original. We have our heroes -- established as such from the first scene, as children -- as young people engaged in the sciences and full of hope that they are acting upon. Frankly, I think we as a culture would do well to admire this kind of hero over people who punch each other and then spit out sarcastic witticisms.

But that's also not particularly engaging or entertaining for mainstream audiences. And after the kinetic joy of the more recent Guardians of the Galaxy and Ant-Man, it's hard to reframe our perspective on superheroes. And so the film goes from coming-of-age to sci-fi adventure as our heroes travel to another dimension and unleash radiation that turns them into David Cronenberg-esque bodies with superpowers. Then the Authorities That Be inter our heroes, and the film becomes more like a war/political thriller as our heroes attempt to escape or succumb to demands placed upon them. And, finally, and less successfully, our heroes determine to embrace their new abilities and each other as a team.

It's a bit heavy-handed. It's a bit messy. And it's a bit fun. It has wit but few laughs, it has danger but little action, and it has vision but little skill. I felt rather melancholy in leaving, and more than rather confused. In short, it's a summer blockbuster, all in all. We shall look upon its like again.

IMDb: Fantastic Four

Ricki and the Flash (2015)

Score: 4.5 / 5

Easily the most entertaining movie I've seen all summer, Ricki and the Flash rocks away the post-summer blockbuster blues before we dip our toes into Oscar season. It's a familiar story, they're familiar actors, and we can hum and tap along to the familiar music, but there's a lot to be said for excellent artists coming together to make something so traditional so damn good. I mean, most of the time you can predict the exact words some of these characters say before they do, but I think that speaks less about the film's intelligence than about its emotional honesty and resonance.

Director Jonathan Demme and writer Diablo Cody pull their usual strings here, adding layer upon layer to the rote story of an absent parent who chases an artistic (or sometimes business-related) dream or goal away from his or her family, and subsequently attempts to bridge the chasms of the past. Demme and Cody make this round fresh, though, by centering on a woman, middle-aged and a mother, who left her husband and children to chase her dreams. As she returns to care for her damaged children, she is forced to confront their very different lifestyles and the demons they all harbor. And, of course, we the audience are forced to confront our ideas about all manner of complex ideas (thanks, Demme, but damn you) from alternative lifestyles and aging to dysfunctional families and class divisions.

Meryl Streep is impossibly perfect as Ricki, the rockstar woman who sings her way through life and plays our heartstrings along with her guitar. Her every moment on screen is electric, and sparks fly from under her eyeshadow and braids. We join her in maneuvering between her three children (one of whom is her real-life daughter Mamie Gummer, who proves her mettle opposite Streep), her ex-husband (Kevin Kline) and his wife (Audra McDonald), and her romantic lead guitarist. The filmmakers and Streep consistently (but not obnoxiously) push hard arguments on us against our cultural ideas of women and work, absent mothers, and poor musicians; specifically, there is a sharp focus on the double standard of women (and artists) who choose themselves and/or their work over their families. Actually, even the way I phrased that indicates an existing bias.

It's a very interesting film in this regard, and a lot is left unsaid and unresolved (which is a good thing, I think, because the characters themselves don't really resolve much) but these Big Picture ideas in no way disrupt the heart and joy of the movie. The family unit -- in all its complexity -- takes center stage here, and Demme makes a point to juxtapose images of Streep on her own and Streep with her family (either chosen or given). My favorite scene from the film comes early on, right after Ricki arrives at her ex-husband's home, and they all go to a restaurant together. We have glam-rocker Ricki, her suited husband, and three grown children: a disheveled newly-divorced daughter, a hostile and sarcastic gay son, and a similarly hostile engaged son with his fiancee. Ricki learns all kinds of new things about her estranged children, and as they try to stay civil amidst their brutal emotions, the people eating at nearby tables reflect our own awe at the spectacle. The scene is biting and vicious and all sorts of uncomfortable, and I was laughing so hard I was crying.

The rest of the film, for me, was downhill from there. Probably not a good thing, but it also never got boring. Meryl sings some more, Meryl cries some more, and there's a palpable affection that sweeps the auditorium. I'm thinking this movie is a weird mash-up of Rachel Getting Married (a Demme drama of dysfunctional family arguments) and Mamma Mia! (a Streep-vehicle of music, marriage, and mother-daughter relationships). Oh, and if you had any doubts about Streep as a rockstar, just take a look at the picture below. She looks amazing (I want that hair), she sounds like she could be an opening act for Journey or Bruce Springsteen, and her talent is laid bare in a summer of computer generated effects. I can't wait to download the music from this (especially her Lady Gaga cover, because love).

Rock on, Ricki.

IMDb: Ricki and the Flash

Mission: Impossible - Rogue Nation (2015)

Score: 3 / 5

This franchise has a lot to be said for it. I don't really want to try and give a concise opinion of all five films here, but I think this installment draws on each of the previous films so much that I'll probably reference them all at some point. And, in fact, that's probably my biggest problem with this picture as well: It feels totally derivative, a misshapen amalgam of images and ideas from its predecessors, wrapped up in a story that, though promising, never delivers its fifth-act knockout. And yes, I just mixed my metaphors. On purpose.

This film really was a great idea for the series. Our hero Ethan Hunt searches for proof of the Syndicate, a secret organization of criminals, while the IMF is disbanded and he himself is sought by the CIA for going rogue (and for his past recklessness). Along the way, Hunt learns that the Syndicate seems to largely be made up of agents thought to be dead from similar organizations around the world. I mean, how cool is that? Two mysterious "rogue nations" going at each other while both are hunted by the CIA. That sounds like a lot of room for elegant intrigue, travel and adventure, and good old-fashioned spying.

Unfortunately, that's not what happens. In strictest sense, yes, that's the plot, but writer/director Christopher McQuarrie and his team spend all their time and energy on endless chase sequences and fast, jittery violence that feels more an assault on us than on the characters. There is little (if any) sleuthing or sneaking, only momentary elegance (found, surprise surprise, in the opera sequence), and a plot so big-picture oriented that the details get lost in the action. Yes, it's a rogue organization, we get it, so can we make it a little less obvious? A little more subtlety would do well for both the characters and the filmmakers here.

We have a chase through the dark streets of London (like in the first movie), motorcycle chases (like in the second), gritty, color-graded violence (like in the third), and an aging hero (like in the fourth). And those are just the most obvious thefts. I'm not saying these are bad things. Indeed, the finale's chase through foggy London alleys is probably my favorite scene in the picture, precisely because it is so iconic (it clearly recalls moments from the opening sequence of film #1, by far my favorite sequence in the series). I would argue, though, that the only original moment in this film is (again) the opening sequence, though it feels more like a mini-film than an introduction. Actually, Cruise's obligatory descent into a high-security room to do something tech-savvy on a supercomputer is also riveting here, because said room happens to be full of fast-moving water. Other than these moments, though, the film is just a rehashing of old, well, hash.

That's not to say it's not well done. Even the oldest ideas are the most exciting, if presented skillfully. And here we have some lovely costumes, set pieces, and acting. In fact, newcomer Rebecca Ferguson is easily the most novel presence on screen. Smart and sexy, she brings proper enigma to the film, parrying Cruise's antics in every scene. She also, perhaps the greatest virtue of the script, proves herself a vicious, intelligent, and fully capable spy, both saving and beating Tom Cruise repeatedly. She is autonomous, makes dangerous decisions, and ultimately emerges victorious from her many struggles. She is the real hero of this movie. And of course Jeremy Renner, Simon Pegg, and Ving Rhames are a stellar combination of humor and heart. Besides introducing Ferguson's character, though, the script delivers no development for any of these men, making the heart of the film disappear beneath violence and extended chases.

Beyond these, there is little of novel interest. The mysterious Syndicate are caricatures, which might work if the film presented them as a constant, ever-present threat. But it doesn't. Rather, the dialogue repeatedly refers to them as such, but only visually presents them through their purported leader, Solomon Lane (Sean Harris). This minimizes most of the enigma about the Syndicate, and, in case you disagree, the film repeatedly shows a close-up of his face just to remind you that he's the bad guy. And even this wouldn't be such an issue if he was a decent bad guy. But we barely see him fight, he's got weak screen presence (sorry, Harris, but you just don't compare to Philip Seymour Hoffman in #3), and it seems that the only reasonably scary thing about him is his voice.

For summer entertainment, you could definitely do worse. And it's not the worst in the series, either. For me, it's just difficult to swallow this picture after Ghost Protocol, with its clean action, rousing comedy, fresh faces, and palpable heart. Rogue Nation instead has shaky, handheld action, less plot (and intelligence), little humor, and mindless chase scenes. Let's hope we go back to basics for the next mission, should Cruise choose to accept it.

IMDb: Mission: Impossible - Rogue Nation

Mr. Holmes (2015)

Score: 4.5 / 5

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

IMDb: Mr. Holmes

Southpaw (2015)

Score: 4 / 5

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

IMDb: Southpaw

Ant-Man (2015)

Score: 4.5 / 5

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

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

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

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

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

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

IMDb: Ant-Man

Magic Mike XXL (2015)

Score: 4 / 5

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

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

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

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

IMDb: Magic Mike XXL

Magic Mike (2012)

Score: 4 / 5

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

IMDb: Magic Mike

In Secret (2013)

Score: 4 / 5

Take an abbreviated Jane Eyre, turn it on its head, toss in some steamy sex, and you get In Secret, a quietly captivating erotic thriller that passed us all by two years ago. This dark adaptation of Emile Zola's Thérèse Raquin does little for those of us who want to be surprised by plot structure, but it works wonders for the rest of us. Not for a moment do we believe that the adulterous affair suggested by the title will end happily, but we also don't really care; anyone who disagrees has never seen Romeo and Juliet or any other romantic drama ever.

I suppose a brief outline will suffice, then: Therese (Elizabeth Olsen) is trapped in a loveless marriage to her sickly, spoiled cousin Camille (Tom Felton), watched over by her domineering aunt/mother-in-law Madame Raquin (Jessica Lange). When Camille's seductive friend Laurent (Oscar Isaac) comes calling, he and Therese embark on an intense affair that leads to murder, madness, and other exciting stuff. And if you don't expect all these things from the dark first scene, you can leave the fun stuff for us and go watch one of several mindless comedies in theaters right now.

Thus, our focus here is on style over substance. I said the first scene is dark, by which I do actually mean chromatically. Yeah, sure, the whole film is "dark" thematically, but director Charlie Stratton rightly decided to pair the heavy drama of a period piece with the striking visuals of Gothic thrillers, making every moment fraught with tension and rimmed with shadow. Stratton's screenplay -- which moves along at a surprisingly fast pace, though it is disguised by Florian Hoffmeister's (Mortdecai) meditative cinematography -- features very little dialogue, allowing for the actors, sets, and lighting to paint a nightmarish vision of hell itself, as Therese herself once describes her situation. Gabriel Yared (Cold Mountain, Shall We Dance?, 1408) crafted a symphonic score to accompany, and the great sweeping runs of stringed instruments would make the film feel overscored if the visuals weren't already so dramatic. In fact, the whole film teeters dangerously on the edge of operatic excess. The only thing that grounded it, for me, was the cast.

Jessica Lange is the undisputed soul of the film. And really, even for younger audiences or romantic viewers who might prefer the star-crossed lovers to be their protagonists, the film wouldn't work without a conniving, vulnerable, and passionate Madam Raquin to run things. Though some might say we've seen enough of Lange's crazy time in American Horror Story, here she does what she always does: She finds yet another nuanced, fully-realized character in the throes of madness unlike any we've seen yet. Miraculously, Olsen, Isaac, and Felton all match her, though perhaps less gracefully, scene for scene, with their own idiosyncratic psychoses. Olsen carries the weight of the film really well, allowing her teary, fearful gaze to sweep, wide-eyed, across almost every scene. Felton's pale simpering oozes a charm of its own, countered marvelously by Isaac's smoky stares and aggressive sensuality.

For as much as I'm throwing around descriptions of these people as "crazy", I don't want you to think this is a film populated with fearfully unstable individuals. No, this film isn't "about" (vile phrase) insanity. This film is about the ways in which normal people act and react under heavy cultural weights. These people are single parents who dote on their children, surrogate children searching for love, spouses stuck together without love or respect, a woman seeking freedom from cultural oppression, a man risking everything to be with his lover, and, ultimately, two people who learn that the sins of the past can never really leave us. Whether or not we agree with these characters' actions -- and Stratton has very cleverly allowed a lot of room for discussions on class, gender, family structure, morality/ethics, social norms, and marriage -- we can easily participate in their navigating the murky waters of forbidden romance, and hopefully emerge a bit better off than they do.

IMDb: In Secret

Insidious: Chapter 3 (2015)

Score: 3 / 5

Unfortunately, the third time isn't always the charm. The first Insidious was daring, fresh, and disturbing; the second was intelligent and more intense, if less focused. But Chapter 3 flirts with being entirely unnecessary, which is its primary sin. But maybe I'm being a tad premature.

Leigh Whannell's new chapter (which he also directed, for the first time) distances itself almost entirely from the Lambert haunting, which we saw extensively in the first two films. Though it's sad not to see Patrick Wilson, Rose Byrne, and Barbara Hershey, those poor souls have been through hell a few times already. Now we see a totally unrelated family -- played by single dad (Dermot Mulroney) and his haunted daughter (Stephanie Scott) -- tormented by a totally unrelated evil spirit. I was a little excited that Whannell wanted to expand his universe, and I don't think he failed in doing so (we'll have to wait for another installment to be sure), but this movie only occasionally felt like an Insidious picture. His script tries, bless it, to tie itself in, using shorthand to build on characterizations (Specs, Tucker, the Woman in Black) made in other films. But maybe it wasn't the new plot or characters, though establishing them took quite a long time. Maybe it was Whannell's directing.

In fact, the only times I really felt like I was watching an Insidious picture were when our heroes journeyed into The Further, the dark limbo of demons and lost souls. But the long shots of a lone adventurer carrying a blue light through foggy shadows are too familiar now. Thank God we have Lin Shaye again, who also heroically helps tie this film in to the others. In fact, she is the only reason I would ever watch this film again. It's her movie all the way (sorry, Mulroney!), and she charges forward with her acting chops in full force, traveling the dramatic circuit from feverishly fearful to bombastically brave. Whannell seems to appreciate that Shaye's character, Elise, is the soul of these films, and finally gives her the chance to shine over the other characters. He also fleshes out her story in some unexpected ways, adding a romantic relationship, past tragedy, and previous experience to her character.

Besides Shaye, though, the film does little to remain memorable. Big buildups lead to weak payoffs (though scored loudly to make us jump), and the basic premise of a "haunting" is lost in a series of direct ghostly manifestations that cause bodily harm to our young female victim. Not unlike Chapter 2, where the "haunted house horror" became more of a "domestic invasion thriller", this film quickly forsakes bumps in the night in favor of zombies in the attic. I don't know if it's all good or all bad, but it just doesn't always feel Insidious.

That said, there are some effective scares (mostly in the frightful images, which seem to be the bloodiest in the franchise) and several effective laughs. If Whannell struggles to amp up the fear factor, he succeeds in awkward comedy, both in the disconnected domestics of the victim-family (Mulroney's "whoop-ass face" is a keeper) and in the eager antics of Specs and Tucker (Whannell and Angus Sampson with a bizarre hairstyle). He also succeeds -- perhaps unintentionally, but, again, we'll have to wait and see -- in planting seeds for further films. The three-month gap between Insidious and Chapter 3 leaves some room for more adventures with Elise, Specs, and Tucker's "Spectral Sightings" team. Or, we could venture further into Elise's past, as we did in Chapter 2, and see her earlier forays into the spirit world or her married life. Either way, we have more to see between her and the red-faced demon of the first film (which, mind, also appears in Chapter 2 and now in Chapter 3), whether before or after the Lambert haunting. I'm hoping for another "Come on, bitch," moment like she had in this movie! I may have cheered out loud at that one, and I'm not even sorry.

Who knows if James Wan and Leigh Whannell will keep up this franchise. I rather hope they do, though I think I prefer Wan's hand at this subject matter. Whannell unfortunately played it safe, and was too direct and too kinetic for my taste, but then I'm totally biased in favor of Wan's more relaxed, abstract, and detailed first film. Remember: Wan's wideshots win, every time.

And frankly, I want more Barbara Hershey.

IMDb: Insidious: Chapter 3