Hush (2016)

Score: 4.5 / 5

Joining the ranks of my favorite thrillers, Hush is the less-than-novel mashup of some major home invasion films that delivers on every front for a pulse-pounding white-knuckle experience.

It's Wait Until Dark (1967) meets The Strangers (2008). A deaf writer, Maddie (Kate Siegel), lives in isolation in the woods when a sadistic killer (John Gallagher Jr) targets her for a night of terror, violence, and death. Has it been done before? Of course, but only rarely this well. It's a technical masterpiece. I expected no less from the writer and director of Oculus, with its deceptive imagery and focus on the horrors of the visual world. Here, Mike Flanagan harnesses the power of sound (and, sometimes, the lack of sound) to entrap us in this cat-and-mouse game between an abled antagonist and a disabled protagonist. At first we might underestimate the effect of deafness on our hero, but when glass windows or doors start breaking, her phone starts ringing, or even when her only friend is murdered while pounding on her door for help, we realize that her particular situation is far from advantageous.

Flanagan and his team relentlessly pile on the horror and, with it, the smarts. While there are a few moments that will make any fan shout, "NO, don't do that, why would you do that," or "look behind you, look behind you, damnit!", there is no questioning the structure and technique of the film. Given that Maddie is deaf and mute, I was hoping that the film might be more silent than it was. But in retrospect, Flanagan does a fine job balancing the hushed moments with the banging, smashing, slicing crescendos. And the silence is never so silent that you are distracted by your own environment; he must have used ultrasound or some other tools to make the silence palpable. It's mesmerizing.

Fair warning for you faint of stomach, the finale becomes a bit of a bloodbath. One particular scene shows a hand getting stomped on repeatedly, and it comes to resemble a mangled, twisted mess of brokenness. It was hard for me to watch after that. I don't do broken bones, and this one was a beast.

It's an excellent scary movie, and it lives with you after viewing. Think on it: What do you do when you can't hear the things that go bump in the night?

IMDb: Hush

Sausage Party (2016)

Score: 1.5 / 5

In a bizarre parody of (I guess?) Toy Story, we get the story of walking, talking food products as they live their lives in a grocery store. As we might expect, fun and silliness turns to horror as the food is brutally consumed. Conceptually, it's brilliant fodder for some rotten food puns and grocery groans, and the film makes the most of each and every one. One-liners fly faster than we can catch them, and the constant innovation in design and delivery of each character and their world is fascinating.

Obviously with a title like Sausage Party, there will be a fair amount of sexual humor. But if you had told me that this madcap absurdist comedy would view more like a graphic porno, I would have laughed it aside. But it does. While I have no problem with witnessing offensive humor and animated food celebrating orgiastic sexuality, and I laugh-cried through most of the picture, it's just not my cup of tea. I left the theater feeling hollow and annoyed and more than a little sorry I had gone. Only so much pleasure can be taken from the animation, the humor, and even the surprisingly deep themes of truth and fantasy, hope and courage, and (arguably) embracing a diverse community.

If you know me, you know comedy is not my thing, and I'm pretty picky with animated movies. Ultimately, I can only take so much deep-fried crude humor in 90 minutes.

IMDb: Sausage Party

Anthropoid (2016)

Score: 3.5 / 5

I do love a good World War II drama. And while this one's no masterpiece, it furthers the proof that Bleecker Street is putting out some fine films in only its sophomore year. Anthropoid has its virtues, and in a summer of either overblown masterpieces or overblown failures, that's saying a lot. It's not pretentious, it's not elaborate, and it's not coated with CG crap. Small, detailed, and poignant, the picture takes us back in time to a lesser-known story that reminds us to consider the cost of our fights. Anthropoid will earn its place on my shelf for two main reasons.

The story. I've seen Valkyrie, sure, and I've read anecdotes here and there about the assassination attempts on high-level Nazi leaders during the war. Operation Anthropoid was one of these, the (unfamiliar to me) assassination of Reinhard Heydrich, a major figure in the regime and main man behind the Holocaust. I had seen Kenneth Branagh portray him in the 2001 drama Conspiracy, so I was able to contextualize the film a wee bit. Like in Valkyrie, this film follows conspirators in their planning and execution of the assassination in question, and then as they cope with the aftermath. It's not a novel idea for a film, but it certainly works. Unfortunately in Anthropoid, the script uses minimalist shorthand in cultivating our sympathies, forcing us to bring our own understanding of history to the film rather than teaching us new contexts. As I, for one, am still learning about the horrors of WWII, I had little knowledge of the effects of war on Czechoslovakia or its people, so the righteous anger of the assassins was less accessible to me. A more articulate screenplay would have made the characters and world of the movie much more accessible, which is a bit of a shame, since the incredibly detailed scene design and costuming and lighting were so entrancing. I felt the world on screen, I just didn't know it -- does that make sense?

The climax. This is the real gold mine. While most of the film is solid enough, from the point of the assassination attempt itself to the end, the plot radically shifts into thriller mode and ramps up its energy. By the time our heroes hole themselves up in a church for protection, we know it's almost over. What happened next was something I did not expect: A jarring, taut, edge-of-your-seat nail-biter of a firefight. It's pretty damn violent, to be sure, but actually so was a lot of this film (There's one scene of torture in particular that made me get light-headed. If you thought you hated Nazis, watch this scene and you'll realize you have more to give). The finale, though, is a microcosm of cinematic excellence, featuring fabulous visual editing, great sound mixing and editing, smart logistics, and some decent camerawork to boot. If you don't watch anything else in the movie, watch that sequence.

Okay, and there's a third reason. Jamie Dornan and Cillian Murphy both make me feel a certain way, and when they share a screen in period getup while crying and hugging and angsting out the wazoo, I can't stop the waterworks. Someone pass me a hanky.

IMDb: Anthropoid

Green Room (2016)

Score: 4 / 5

You say you never expected a movie pitting cowboys against aliens. I say I never expected a movie pitting rock musicians against neo-Nazi skinheads. But here it is, and it's awesome.

A wry, witty first act sets up the film to be something between dark satire and absurdist thriller. Our protagonists, "the Ain't Rights" band members, find themselves wandering the Pacific Northwest on their down-and-out tour. A seemingly fortuitous opportunity arises, and the band go to a remote bar deep in the woods. Upon recognizing its clientele as neo-Nazis, the band provoke the crowd before performing their concert, and then prepare to depart. They accidentally find a murdered woman in their green room, and immediately find themselves held at gunpoint by the bouncers, who confiscate their phones. The night quickly explodes into violence and ushers in a surprising bloodbath that lasts a better part of an hour.

If you know me at all, you know I don't handle body horror well, and as soon as we see bones break or skin tear, my mind turns to mush. I wasn't expecting it, so you can be sure my consciousness was in question for most of this film. From what I can recall, the both the story and its characters are thin: It's a strange sort of reverse-home-invasion plot featuring little more than adrenalized bodies ready to be "cut the fuck up" (as Jada Pinkett Smith says in Scream 2).

The interest here is in the excellent presentation of the proceedings. It's not exactly an unknown story, and between the genre and its tropes, the film could be a big yawn. Director Jeremy Saulier pulls the film taut, keeping everything clear and clean in a world of little but gore and grime, and indulging in the smallest of visual pleasures. Machetes and pit bulls and fire extinguishers and shotguns and pocket-knives are all used with indiscriminate violence as the players launch themselves upon the others. There's not a moment when Saulier himself gets caught up in the horrors and the frenzied kinetic action, rather keeping a calculated and distinctly rhythmic eye on everything. His unnerving sense of atmosphere and pace keep things totally accessible and even believable; even the obvious spectacular, shock-value scares are truly shocking because we can believe in the horrors we're witnessing.

Anton Yelchin and Patrick Stewart play the respective leaders of the opposing factions, and together they carry the film. Sean Porter's cinematography and Julia Bloch's editing keep these two men at the center of our attention, and they help focus a film that could have easily sunk into confused waste. Instead, they and director Saulier craft a fierce, fevered foray into hell that raises questions about savagery and brutality, and when fighting back can be the only worthwhile response to the same.

IMDb: Green Room

Florence Foster Jenkins (2016)

Score: 5 / 5

This is exactly the kind of comedy I love. Classy and sassy, the picture sparkles its way across the screen and into our hearts. Not a moment is wasted, not a line tossed aside. While some of the humor is certainly face-value -- or, rather, voice value -- the film carries a sweet weight to it, keeping each comic beat balanced with a sincere concern for our subject. As you may know, the titular socialite wanted to be an opera singer, but famously performed with poor (if any) ability.

It would be so easy for the filmmakers to just mock her, as many have both during her life and since. To be sure, the first scene of her practicing is nothing short of riotous; I was crying so hard from laughter, I'm sure I missed half the scene. But as the film continues, we see the woman as a woman, more than as a caricature. The film suggests, mercifully well, that her poor vocal ability has less to do with her training and passion and more to do with the ravages of syphilis on her body and with the side effects of taking arsenic and mercury as prescribed by her physicians. Though the film feels conventional in its approach to a distinctly unconventional woman, we do see a few instances of her without her facade, namely in private moments with her husband and her accompanist. Her tenderness and generosity in these moments belie the exuberance we see in her public appearances.

Meryl Streep delivers in her uniquely knowing way (not that we could ever expect less) and reveals a character of joy and light, of passion and power, without ignoring the intense narcissism and privilege that that same character also possesses. She is infuriating as much as she is delightful, intoxicating in her vibrant energy, and exacting in her pursuit of pitch-imperfect singing. She nails the infamous voice, which certainly took a fair amount of skill for someone who can actually sing, and do so very well. Only slightly less astounding than our leading lady, Hugh Grant foils Streep's energy with masterfully sharp turns and a devilish twinkle in his eye; playing her faithful and endlessly supportive husband, Grant turns up the charm as he facilitates the action of the film, secretly hiding or bribing detractors and mockers before they can wound his wife's pride. He even safeguards his own opinions and behaviors so well that we feel not a sting as we discover his duplicity and his mistress. We understand, we sympathize, and we love every moment. Some credit is due to writer Nicholas Martin, to be sure, but Grant most successfully walks the thin line of our approval.

The surprise joy for me in this film came in the form of Simon Helberg (The Big Bang Theory), whose portrayal of accompanist Cosme McMoon is nothing short of enchanting. Effete and often bewildered, McMoon is revealed to be a small but highly ambitious man, seeking approval, recognition, and ultimately success from and over the people who have made his life difficult. His effeminacy and sickly-sweet demeanor at first endear Florence to him, but we may understand later, when she visits his rundown flat, that she feels a certain care and even responsibility for him. He grows exponentially as a young man and as a performer under her stardom, and by the finale, he is a new man, confident in himself and supportive of the woman he has not-so-discreetly regretted meeting.

Do yourself a favor and go see this movie. Its message is clear, and though the film hammers it home several times, it certainly doesn't lose its relevance or potency. Passion, far more than technique, is the true beauty of the arts. Ambition can be a great asset, if also paired with generosity and love. And, as Florence herself says near the end of the film, "They can say I couldn't sing, but they can't say I didn't sing." She had a gift and she used it to both express herself and to help others. How many of us can say the same?

IMDb: Florence Foster Jenkins

Pete's Dragon (2016)

Score: 4.5 / 5

Disney's on a bit of a winning streak, and this one is just the latest jewel in its crown. A nostalgic bit of magic, the film reminds us of a time when "Disney movies" meant something, when as a kid I would look at the beautiful Disney VHS cases at rental stores and eagerly look forward to the color and lights, feel the kindness and joy of characters, and feel empowered and affirmed. Sure, I can now recognize some serious ideological flaws in even the oldest Disney classics. But that doesn't necessarily mean I don't still feel a tingle of joy when I consider re-viewing Sleeping Beauty or Snow White. It's that kind of magic Disney is bringing back to its films, but now they (mostly) have stronger, better messages. Look at the purpose and power of Judy Hopps, the feminist and queer dynamics of Queen Elsa, the autonomy of Mowgli, the community of care and love around Dory, and the honest consequences of wishes and actions in Into the Woods. Disney still has its missteps (as in the colossal waste of time and energy of the Cinderella remake), but by and large they are still decent exercises in filmmaking, and they surely bring joy to some.

I don't really remember the original -- with the notable exceptions of Mickey Rooney, absurd musical numbers, and the trippy cartoon beast itself -- but I do remember distinctly not liking it. I was, you might imagine, a little hesitant to go see this remake. Thankfully my worries were proven unnecessary.

Pete's Dragon hits all its marks. It's a totally safe and sweet PG adventure, a rollicking coming-of-age dramedy with some light action, some familiar drama, and a whole lotta heart. It's one of those movies dripping with sentiment that actually works. A pretty thin film, full of breathtaking special effects and wonderful vision, simple and straightforward, never promising more than it gives and relishing the smallest of moments just long enough for us to take everything in. Director David Lowery (Ain't Them Bodies Saints) and cinematographer Bojan Bazelli (The Ring, Mr. & Mrs. Smith, Hairspray, Burlesque) imbue the film with a mythic quality that starts small and builds to a charming if safe climax, all while keeping the action controlled and measured. While the effects are massive, there's no overkill; whereas the original was hallucinatory and vivid, everything here is grounded and detailed realistically, including the dragon itself. Furry and green, it emotes perhaps more than any of the actors.

That's not to say the actors aren't on their game, though the script only gives a couple of them anything to work with. Little Oakes Fegley is a wonder to watch and a joy to behold as he commands the screen in every shot. Bryce Dallas Howard is the other joy here, delivering a turn as loving mother and motherly guardian of the Pacific Northwest forest. Robert Redford pops in for a few scenes as the grandfatherly narrator, and both Wes Bentley and Karl Urban run around with appropriate and contrasting energies.

The greater joys for me lie in the production itself. Besides the visual magic, Lowery's screenplay refocuses the story, simplifying the plot and making a clear case for environmentalism. He also continues a trend we've seen in Boyhood and Room, allowing a boy to mature before our eyes, while surrounding him with an amazing mother figure. The music by Daniel Hart is primarily folksy, helping the mythic presentation along, while strengthening major themes of family and home. Home may be where the heart is, but it's also a place in the world, a place in time, and the place with the people we love. Pete finds a home in the forest with Elliott the dragon, he also finds home with his surrogate family in town; Elliott ultimately finds his own home, farther away from "civilization" that ravages the land and his species.

Pete's Dragon is a lovely little meditation on all these and more, and a simple joy to watch. In a summer of films that are largely disappointments, that's a pretty great thing to say.

IMDb: Pete's Dragon

Suicide Squad (2016)

Score: 3 / 5

It's Deadpool all over again. What promised to be a naughty, subversive, wickedly cool antihero movie ends up being a fun and off-beat action flick with more hero than anti, more sub than vers, and more bark than bite. It's not the most clever or entertaining in this franchise on its own terms, and it doesn't hold up against the Marvel franchise. As someone who knows next-to-nothing about DC things, I can't say as much as fans who are disappointed or confused or annoyed. But there are a few things I can say, so here goes:

I liked it. Enough, anyway, to watch it again. It's a lot of fun. I'd rather see a group of crazy punks with demented grins blasting each other for a couple hours than Henry Cavill or Batfleck (or whatever they're calling him now) and their introspective self-loathing and put-upon nobility. Though I liked that well enough, too. Dark and grimy, the film makes no apologies for its seeming ugliness, and instead piles on the atmospheric dirt, making the viewing experience one of angst and pleasure, loaded with dark humor and violence. There could have been so much more, though, and that's what hangs me up.

The movie really could have and should have gone for an R rating. I mean, it's called Suicide Squad. A little language, a little blood, some light nudity would have made a world of difference for me. Too often the picture tiptoed around what could have been fabulous fight sequences or daring character development (I mean -- hello -- Joker and Harley Quinn and their Stockholm Syndrome romance could have made for a hell of a dynamic subplot). Instead, the film reads like a censored flick on midafternoon networks, or the movie equivalent of SparkNotes, talking more than doing, editing away the sweet juices and focusing on drier meal. Don't believe me? Example: How -- after Heath Ledger's terrifying Dark Knight scenes -- are you going to make the Joker a palatable villain if, in his introductory scene, you have him only mildly scare an underling with some pseudo-sexual powerplay and then just laugh and shoot him? It's not novel; it's not even worth watching. We've seen what the character can do with just a damn pencil. Up your game, guys.

Viola Davis is the main reason I will choose to watch the movie again. She steals each scene she graces, pulling off her understated performance moment by moment, until she allows us, eventually, to see cracks in her polished and calculated disguise. It's in the little moments and her subtleties that we suspect she is, in fact, hardly a better person than the criminals and crazies she has assembled, and that she may be far more devious than any of them. I saw her crazy eyes come out more than once, guys, don't tell me I'm wrong! Joel Kinnaman was pretty great as her squad leader, and nicely matched her tone and energy even when they weren't sharing a scene. Besides them, the rest of the cast was okay, nobody really standing out. Margot Robbie was a fun Harley Quinn, to be sure, but the part was totally catering her character; her one-liners were great, but people seem to forget that someone else wrote those lines. Jay Hernandez as El Diablo was probably the only character I was constantly intrigued by. Will Smith as Deadshot was fine, but felt a mismatch; his sentimental story made him sane and (possibly worse for this picture) sympathetic. Jared Leto's Joker was fine, I guess, but it felt more strained than sincere, more caricatured than charactered (not unlike David Tennant's Barty Crouch Jr in Harry Potter). Good thing he was more of a sideshow than main event.

I think David Ayer made a fine film. Between the rating and the pressure of a franchise picture with an ensemble cast, I only wish that he had been allowed to do more. The first half of the film promised boons: Each character is introduced with style and vigor, energy worthy of comic books and a twisted joy I relished. But, like Deadpool, by the halfway mark the sentiment overcomes the story, and not long after the film descends into typical superhero arcs, where the team bands together and rallies to fight the Big Bad, save the girl, save the city, win the day, and find their temporary happy endings. Superhero movies are going to have to evolve or die soon. And between Deadpool and Suicide Squad, the studios have proven that even ready-made antiheroic subversive protagonists can't transcend the same ol' rhythms and recipes.

IMDb: Suicide Squad

Star Trek Beyond (2016)

Score: 3.5 / 5

Finally, the summer blockbuster we've been waiting for. Tarzan failed miserably, and the last good major flicks were from Marvel. In a hot season this devoid of decent action movies, just about anything might have done the trick. And while the newest Star Trek certainly delivers in all the crucial ways, it also leaves me feeling a bit underwhelmed.

As someone who has never seen anything Trek-related besides these reboot films, I may not speak with the most authority on these matters. I've heard that the film works best with its nostalgic, retro vibes and its pervasive senses of joy, humor, and adventure. We get more of the Spock-Kirk-McCoy bromance, the Spock-Uhura drama, and some nice insight into Sulu and Scott. This picture, far more than the first or second installments, fulfills the franchise's promise for exploration, adventure, and wonder. All fun, all the time. I totally get that. It's a rapturous fantasy, dazzling and wondrous in scope, layered with hue upon hue, vibrant and explosive, original and utterly absorbing.

The mind-numbing CGI and whirling cinematography through amazing alien worlds do their trick too: distraction. I've heard it argued both ways, and convincingly, but after the emotional and intellectual power-punches of the first two, this film really lets its heart take a break. Perhaps that was the smart decision, as the emotional climax of Into Darkness was so intense. But even what could be character-building arcs here are sacrificed in favor of blatant gags and quirky one-liners. The revved action sequences and heated style render the more sentimental dialogue tepid at best. And maybe that's okay for what amounts to a placeholder film in a franchise as extensive as this. But I just spent the time thinking and typing all this out to say that I'm just not sure, which may suggest the filmmakers weren't sure either, either in conception or execution. My bet is on the latter. Why? Because even some basic plot devices are illogical and filled with holes. I know I missed some, too, because of the frenetic pace of the film, but one that really pissed me off occurred when Scotty tells the captain that the dilapidated spaceship is impossible to fix, and in the next scene everything is fine and they're blasting off.

And that's to say nothing of the action sequences themselves, which are occasionally stupid and usually incoherent. They're a hell of a lot of fun, but I had trouble lining up placements and even location. Not that it even mattered most of the time; the film is so full of salvific coincidence and that it's hard to care much how our heroes escape or succeed because we innately know they will. Important plot pieces just click into place as they are needed with little or no explanation beyond screenwriting laziness.

For all that, though, it's a hell of a picture, and loads of fun. I'd watch it again, and be happy the whole time. It certainly whetted my appetite for another rollicking adventure. Tempered, I might add, by remembering that Anton Yelchin won't be there. Rest in peace.

IMDb: Star Trek Beyond

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